The Aspect of Fire - Book I - Interventions: REMASTERED
by Roku - Molester of Science
Summary: The story of Thomas, Roku and the results of Divine intervention, management failure and sociopathic admiralty, remastered from 1st to 3rd person, with all the "skills" learned from three years of writing the original book. A tale of Breaking (Bad) Science, supernatural technology, monsters from beyond reality and a plot-line in need of therapeutic assistance. A 'T' for now...
1. AHIC

**Greetings.**

 **Before we begin, a few things to help further the understanding of just what the Hel is going on in this story. It can get a bit confusing at times really – Not my fault, blame Roku!**

 **First, as you can see in Italics below, the marine hasn't updated his journal since Virmire, which means that until Virmire, this story, when seen from his point of view, will be in 1st person. As the story progresses, more and more different pov's will be added, and as Virmire kicks off, the story switches to 3rd person. However, I am currently working on getting the entirety of this story made into pure 3** **rd** **person, because honestly, I wrote this thing, and some places still make me** _ **cringe**_ **.**

 **Second. This story is rated "supernatual" for a reason. Aside from the usual 'got brought to Mass Effect by a divine being/spirit/God/aspect with gambling-issues, this version of the Mass Effect universe has a distinct feature that I have yet to see in any other fic, except for 'Avatar of Victory'. "Chi" is a very real, if largely unknown thing here. Chi is the driving force behind a lot of the rather supernatural events taking place later on, and will often be referred to as 'Breaking science". So events like bending of rock, metal and fire are caused by Chi.**

 **As such, I apologize to anyone loving science among you readers: I'm going to end up earning my name.**

 **Third, and last. This story brings in camoes and crossovers from multiple different universes, games and books, hence why it was unable to fit in the crossover section, as there was no setting for what happens in this one. I trust that you guys will recognize the characters created by other companies and the likes, so that I don't have to write down disclaimers for each and ever new chapter. Characters like Admiral Hackett and Lee Riley are obviously the products of BioWare, while hypotheticals like Isaac Clarke belong to...who** _ **did**_ **make the Dead Space games anyway? I can never remember the name...**

 **This likely sounds like it's too far-fetched for a lot of people – though I have come to realize that we Fanfictioners can be a messed up bunch –, but if** _ **you**_ **decide to give this story a chance, you are in for one Hel of a ride.**

 _How long has it been now, since all this started? Three years? I think that's it, yeah. I don't really remember the exact date when I arrived on Eden Prime, but… I remember how, and what happened then._

 _Funny, that I never thought something like could be possible, and here I am, three years later, pondering at the events that led to this… "new life" is a good way to describe it I guess. For some reason, I never really got back to doing this diary-thing after Virmire. I just… I think what happened there made me disregard the diary, and now I'm trying to remember what happened._

 _There are still days where I almost expect to wake up after a coma, find out that it was all a dream, that I never met the people I met, killed the people I killed, loved… loved the woman. I suppose it is all academic at this point, or…maybe it isn't. Fuck if I know, I didn't get a say on how things turned out._

 _Service Chief Thomas Vestergaard Fisker, Alliance Marines - 2186_

* * *

 **A Host is Chosen**

* * *

2011

August 1st

Denmark, Aarhus.

07:28

Life… wasn't all that bad, actually.

That is, his life had been pretty good until that one morning where the stopwatch on his bedside table decided it didn't want to work anymore, and as a result, Thomas Fisher woke up just two minutes before he was supposed to be at work. As a result, he had disregarded breakfast and most morning procedures and charged straight out the door.

As it was, he _could_ still have made it to work, even if it would have meant arriving a few minutes later than he was supposed to.

The issue was, that between his apartment and his workplace, an old railway ran along the harbor. It supported limited traffic of freight-trains, a means of transport which was slowly being snuffed out by the capabilities of trucks on the highway. Had the train here actually _been_ snuffed out, Thomas would most likely have made it to work.

However, as the train had _not_ ceased its traffic, events instead transpired that lead him far beyond his wildest dreams.

And in his haste to get to work, Thomas missed the oncoming train…

As a result of that, he now found himself in complete darkness. There was nothing around him, below or above him. Everything was a complete, impenetrable blackness. His mind felt empty, devoid of immediate emotions. He could see everywhere, and yet, he could not see himself.

It was a strange, alien sensation of formlessness, and he did not like it.

" _ **Well, that could have gone better** "_

He also did not like the new, inhumanely flanged voice echoing from everywhere around him.

" _What the- where am I? Who is this?!_ He demanded, and found to his mounting horror that his voice came out just as flanged as the speaker, though nowhere near as bass. It was the sound of his own thoughts, something he had never heard before, yet it was as familiar to him as his own hands.

Hands.

He once more, only this time _really_ noticed that he could not feel nor see his hands, nor his feet legs or body. He was formless in truth, hovering in the void. This, he realized with sickening dread, could only mean one thing.

He was dead.

" _ **Yes, you are. But this isn't necessarily the end** " _

If there was one single thing more terrifying than realizing his own demise, it was that not only was he still conscious and could think, but whomever was watching him, that entity could also read his mind.

" _Who is this? How can you hear my thoughts?"_ he demanded, feeling panic taking over more and more of his mind.

So much of this was impossible, _scientifically_ impossible, and yet…here he was. He was dead, and he couldn't even remember what had happened.

" ** _Do you know the saying: "are we more than our thoughts?" Well, in this case, you are not."_**

" _What happened to me?! Where is my body!? Where are you?!"_

Where was he? He did not know this place, and to the core of his being hoped that it was not Hel. An eternity with the Daughter of Loki was not in his dreams, but rather his nightmares.

To make matters even more confusing, Thomas wasn't even devotedly Asatru.

" ** _You are… somewhere in-between. You died back there, because of you own idio-"_**

" _The fuck did you sa-"_ he yelled right back, frantic desperation taking over his mind.

" _ **Do not interrupt me boy**!" _ suddenly, it sounded like he was standing in a stadium, with all the speakers pointed at his ears from the meager distance of an arm's length. The voice sounded pissed.

" _Are you… are you a god?"_ as scared as he was, Thomas could not help the question. It just came out the second he even contemplated it. He knew – hoped – it was not the case, but at the same time, he couldn't find any other reasons for the voice around him.

 **" _God? No… there is no such… deity in this place. There is only me, and I would rather you refer to me, as You."_** Now the voice seemed to come from _inside_ his own head, which only served to decrease Thomas' optimism in things turning out well. Not that he'd had much to begin with.

" _Then... what am I doing here?"_

" ** _You are dead, what are you asking?"_**

Was this thing stupid? Thomas mean, why wasn't he in hell or somewhere else, like Heaven, Valhalla or, just to put it on the table, Sovngarde?

 **" _No, I am not ignorant. And as to why you have not transcended, I am actually here to… give you a choice, so to speak."_**

" _Okay… so why am I here?"_ he did not like the way the conversation was going, and a sensation of loss was somewhat slowly creeping though his mind. He felt disturbed to realize that he wasn't at all very bereft or shocked at the gruesome details he remembered of his own demise. Death by freight-train.

Not a good way to go.

" ** _I just told you: To be given a choice"_**

Had Thomas possessed a hand at that point, he would have slapped himself in the face at this point. The situation repeatedly went between disastrously disturbing, and just plain weird. He sighed, or at least, his consciousness performed the motions usually connected to a sigh. Here, nothing happened.

No mouth, no lungs, no air.

" _I mean… what are the choices?"_

" ** _Oh… was wondering when you would ask. The choices are rather… simple. You can return to life on Earth, however, as you were just hit by a train, you will spend the rest of your life there crippled in a way that will make Stephen Hawking look like Usain Bolt. He's still alive right? I haven't watched your TV in more than ten years."_**

" _Yeah…He's still ali- wait a- are you watching TV?!"_ if anything, this was going from weird, to simply stupid. There was supposed to be reverence when faced with a godlike entity, but here? Thomas felt as if there was a _very_ bad practical ongoing, and he was the butt of it.

 **" _Good, good…"_**

Silence

" _Sooooo… isn't this were you tell me about the other choices?"_

" ** _What choices?"_**

Crap!

" ** _Arrhh just messing with ya. I haven't had a visitor in more than 72 years, so my humor may be a little… rusty."_**

What the… he's making jokes now? Then, if he's joking, I might not be-

" _ **And yes, you ARE dead. Sorry to tell you, but that one wasn't a joke. Would you like to see**?"_

" _See? Dafuq are you talking abo-"_ Thomas started but was cut off by turning everything into a panorama movie of the crossroads. There, flung through the air, was his bike; twisted and destroyed, across the railroad. There was a long track of blood across the tracks, and an arm lying a little to the left from the train itself. The driver of the train, a man in the late 40's judging from his appearance, had jumped out of the vehicle, and was on his knees by the arm.

Thomas felt a distinctly _physical_ sinking sensation when he recognized the arm as his own. Several cars had stopped, and people from all around the road were pouring in to see just what had happened. Some were aghast, walking back and getting sick in the middle of the road. Some were just standing there, pointing and talking. Thomas saw one taking a picture – A PICTURE! With his cell phone, like this was some kind of entertainment. But most were scuttling around, looking for the rest… of him. Then the sirens started, and people in turn started pulling back, letting the paramedics through.

Not much they could do but try to collect the pieces. Then, the police arrived. Their headquarter was only two minutes of walk from the accident, so they were almost immediately on the scene, talking to the driver, asking the crowd what happened here. As the image faded out and the picture froze, just as one of the paramedics **started to pull out something from under the train.**

 **" _Now… this is where you decide whether or not to return to life in a state of total invalidation. If yes, then the good doc will pull out paralyzed arm-and-legless body, only capable of looking around. If no, then you will see… what's the phrase? "Just how deep the rabbit-hole goes" I think it is."_**

"… _.. And by that you mean the other choices?"_ he asked, shaking from the still evident picture of his accident. I am not spending the rest of my life as a cripple.

" _ **Well, one choice obviously is to just die and go to heaven. A lot of people choose that even before I've said what the third option is…"** _

" _And what is this third option"_ Thomas asked the voice, hoping that it wasn't Hel.

There was a slight pause; something that he had by now come to understand as a sign of the voice considering how to say or put a certain word. It was frustrating that he was so utterly powerless to change his current situation, much less undo whatever mistake he had made that had ended him up…here. Or, was it there? Was it even _anywhere_?

" ** _Well, the third option is a rebirth, in your current state that is. Not as a baby, and not in this dimension either… you will begin a new life in a new place. And when I say your current state, I mean the state you were in, before the accident. You will, however, be left with several scars and broken limps. But not invalid. And I think you will find that the people there are quite capable of healing that…I will also make sure your emotions will be somewhat curtailed initially, just to ensure you won't make a complete ass of yourself."_**

" _What do you mean by that?"_

" ** _Humans, mortals in general, have a tendency to act on emotions that do not serve to further their own productivity."_** Thomas would have glared at the voice, had he possessed eyes; **" _In dying, and choosing anything but returning to Earth, you will never again see your family."_**

" _No need to be a dick about it…Fuck...Shit!"_

Thomas swallowed – at the very least, he felt as if he did – and briefly felt like throwing up. He hadn't been much in contact with his family since moving out, but still… he didn't like the idea of never seeing them again. Mom, Dad, his friends at home.

And yet, there was no guarantee he could ever again lead a normal life if he did choose to return. Crippled and unable to move, it was not a life worth living, regardless of the company.

"… _And… how many have chosen C before?"_

 **" _Well, surprisingly few. Only about five or six people in the time that I've been here"_**

" _And that is how long?"_

" ** _Only about two-hundred-and-ninety-one years, though I have existed since the Dawn of Time… My predecessor still holds the record of being in power for the longest time. He sent a guy from the Stone Age into the Roman times, and they called him "the Scourge of God". Pfftt, he was merely some caveman dressed in armor."_**

" _Well, tha- are you saying that Attila the Hun was a caveman?"_ If anything, at least the voice was ensuring that Thomas was confused enough that his grief was halfway drowned in stupor.

" _Oh right,_ that _was his name. Always forget it. Anyway, I'm really hoping that you'll choose the last one, and then do something either terrible or great and noble. Because I am getting tired of him saying; "oh my crossover raided Europe, what have yours done so far?" Dammit, sometimes I hate that guy!"_

" _So, what have your people done?"_

 **"... _We_ _ll, I did bring back that dude Electric hammer-something from WWI… he could have been world famous for being the first man to fly… but noooo; He'd rather build bicycles. I had to do a little revisit on him to make him do his damn job. When he finally got it together, those stupid Americans had already been flying for some months. That was when I decided he could go F. himself."_**

" _Wait,_ you _created Ellehammer?!"_ as a Dane, Thomas had always been keen on making people aware of the genius that was Ellehammer, first European to fly, aside from hot-air balloons of course. The fact that the Wright Brothers had beaten him to it, was something of a nuisance. As such, Thomas' estimation of the Voice started rising just a little.

" ** _No, I didn't_ create _him; I just brought him back a couple of decades. Idiot was shot down by the Red Baron over Somme. So I thought he would like a second chance. Idiot."_**

Silence. Thomas was honestly unsure of what to reply to that. As such, he simply kept quiet, and waited for the Voice to proceed. It did, unsurprisingly, not take long.

" ** _So, have you made up your mind? About the choices?"_**

"… _So… is there a "turn back" button"?_ severity had to momentarily take a sidestep for simple curiosity, and the need to know.

" ** _No. once you have made your choice, you can never turn back."_**

" _…I don't like the two first ones. Life as a cripple will not be life at all, and I am not even Christian, so I dread to find what would await me in place of Heaven."_ Hel, most likely, or maybe 'Heaven' was simply where good people went regardless of faith.

 **" _So, you choose rebirth?"_**

"… _Yes"_ there was really no way around it now, was there? Rebirth was the only avenue he still retained, and as such, it would have to be the third option.

" ** _In a completely random and unknown place?"_**

"… _yes"_ was he scared? Yes. Of course he was scared, considering he was going to someplace utterly foreign, and without any saying as to where that would happen to be.

 **"** _ **Amongst completely unknown and random people?"**_

Now, he was getting slightly annoyed as well. Fright was one thing, but simple irritation was not what he needed on top of it.

" _Yes, just… get it over with"_

" ** _Alright, well Thomas:_** _ **Here is your life!**_ _"_

A bright flash replaced the darkness, and Thomas found himself falling though empty air, feeling his own body refuse him in every – his own body. He had a _body_ again! – way. Air whizzed past him, and a dark, grey sky loomed overhead.

Flashes of green zapped past him, racking his form with pain beyond what humans were supposedly capable of sensing, and he felt bones break in his body, and burns form wherever the unnatural bolts touched his skin. His clothes scorched and tore, and the tatters flew above him, dancing in the air whereas he simply fell like a stone.

Then he hit the dirt, and the feeling of crunching bones was accompanied by an all-encompassing darkness.

* * *

2183, July 27th

Eden Prime, Foothills.

16:26

"Well, guess we're having shitty weather again, huh?" Sergeant Donkey remarked upon the thunder as it rolled over the hills.

"Odd, there's not supposed to be a cloud on the skies." Gunnery Chief Ashley Madeline Williams noted, looking at the heavens as it stretched, seemingly unending, across the surface of the planet, dark with clouds.

Dog Squad was on patrol, securing the perimeter during the opening of a new dig site.

Apparently, the eggheads were sure they had found some sort of Prothean ruins beneath the soils of the colony, so now dozens of prefabs were being moved, either by shuttle or truck, to make room for the team of archeologists inbound from the Citadel.

The people from Arcturus had already arrived, and were the ones responsible for starting the digging. Ashley, personally, would rather they'd just dig the damn thing up and haul it away. Prothean tech meant trouble, no matter where or when one was.

"So, Ashley… are you doing something tonight?" Donkey asked, moving just a little closer to her, though he still kept his eyes mostly forward and focused. Still, he was walking behind her, and damn was he grateful to whomever had designed their armor. Forms were… better shown in armor like the Phoenix-class hardsuits the squad was wearing.

Dog Squad consisted of a dozen marines, half of them currently hiking through the hills while the rest were keeping guard back at the dig site. Eden Prime's garrison was roughly six regular 'Divisions' divided into 'Squads', of which Dog Squad was one, if the smallest.

"Apart from filing reports?" She asked, sarcasm heavy in her voice. She knew exactly what he was trying to do, and he knew she knew it, and everyone knew they both knew it. It was a standing joke among them, and really, none would prefer it any different. Dog Squad was Dog Squad. It wasn't up for debate.

"Yeah, I mean… don't you ever get bored? Like… all on your own?" He continued, speeding up his steps just a little. Ashley half-turned, rolling her eyes at him, something she made sure he saw.

"Nope, and I like the time I get to spend alone. It gives me time to think… Let me guess, you wanted to go to the bar?" She replied with a grin, knowing she had the man by the balls. Donkey missed a step, and nearly bumped into Private Hillary Pennyloafer, who was carrying her usual load-out of a H-Revenant-A rifle.

The young blonde chuckled and shoved Donkey in the side, further worsening his stumble.

"Well… maybe, I mean…" He stuttered. Ashley ginned, and sent the private a wink. They had been doing this for some time, taking turns to fluster the poor guy. Donkey bristled, and huffed, jogging ahead. He had the misfortune, however, of passing by one of their residing corporals;

"She got you there, Sergeant." Bolin Nadang noted over the private channel, smiling broadly when the sergeant turned to glare at him. Nadang was the newest addition to the unit, with only a few months of experience in the team. However, a new member, a rookie, was supposed to arrive later that day, which would mark the end of him being 'the FNG'.

He had been fairly verbal about his appreciation of that change.

"Damn, weather-gods sure are pissed off today." Hillary mused, walking backwards alongside the others. She was the 'that one person' on the squad, at times behaving like a child. Yet her place on the team was more than just that of comic relief. Of the entire squad, only Ashley had been through a harsher training regimen, though Hillary had come out all the cheerier.

Where there had been all blue and serene just minutes earlier, now was a huge gathering of black clouds, lighting emerging from the center with zapping sounds that offered reminisce of the newest version of 'War of the Worlds', only they were green, and the thunder that accompanied the flashes of celestial energy, was a constant and violent bass rumbling.

It made Ashley's teeth itch, though she refused to let it show.

"Oi, guys? Just… how often does lighting look… well, like _that_?" Norroty asked, pointing into the skies.

The rest of the squad followed his example, Ashley gritting her teeth in… she wasn't sure what she was feeling as she looked at the gathering of clouds spewing out emerald lighting.

There was a sense of foreboding, as if the storm signaled the arrival of… something.

* * *

 _Oh shit_

Thomas was having the worst hangover he'd ever had. _Memo to self: next time you make deal with the Grim Reaper-or-who-the-hell-that-was; bring something for a serious hangover._

His head felt like someone had filled it with hand grenades, detonated them all and then used his skull as a drum. It was like the worst of both worlds. He honestly could have listened to pieces of trash-metal, and not felt _this_ bad.

And now, here he was, in a new life that was not his own. It was something he'd been given, a gift in favor of… something. There was no way this was free, he knew that much. Nothing ever was, and sooner or later, the price would be made clear.

As it was now, however, he was just relieved to realize that he was staring into a manmade ceiling, and that he could hear soft humming of obviously electric equipment nearby. He was around humans, or at least sentient beings.

"'Ma'am, I think patient's regaining consciousness."

A voice! And it was English! Thomas honestly wasn't sure if he should be relieved that he could understand whomever was speaking, or be disappointed at the British accent to it. it seemed as if the situation went from new, alien and – while frightening – interesting, to simply somewhat homey. _Thank Frey though, I don't think I want to see if my Swahili is in order._

It never had been, so English suited him just fine.

However, when he attempted to move his head, he found it locked in place, restrained. There was something strapping his entire body onto the bed.

That, at least, was progress. He was on a bed, which meant wherever he was, his 'hosts' was civil enough that effort had been made to ensure some amount of comfort. This was a nice turn of events, as it meant his host was most likely human, as if the British accent hadn't given that much away already.

"Okay, I think we can undo the restraints around his head; let him look around for a bit." A woman said, cementing that they were, in fact, humans. Though it might have been interesting waking up to Tau medics, Thomas was honestly pleased that the speaker was human. _I just wonder how the Hel I'm supposed to find out where I am…_

He felt the restraints being lifted from his head, including a lot of screws coming loose and something that felt like plastic being removed from his forehead. When the last piece was removed by a gloved hand, he lifted his head a bit, and took a brief glance at his surroundings.

Currently, he was positioned in a medium sized room that seemed like an operation room in a hospital. There were odd machines and weird equipment lining the walls, and something that looked similar to a CT-scanner. There were six beds in there, all of them empty but for the one he was taking up.

The dominating color was a form of grayish white, common with hospitals and clinics alike. The entire place, on further inspection, looked like it was either very, _very_ new, or simply not meant to be permanent. It seemed to be a prefabricated room, somehow, with walls joining in visible seams. Odd, but he knew from experience that the army often made use of prefabricated constructions. Was he in a military compound?

There were canisters of liquid lining the shelves, and some kind of laptop which he'd never seen before. The machine in mention stood on a table, next to a window showing the outside though a pane of clear glass.

Outside, Thomas could see trees and grass. Alright, so it was established that he was _not_ in Hel, and he was not in Star Wars – considering that he had met a disembodied voice capable of sending him…wherever he now was, that wasn't all _that_ far-out – and he was not in his old time, the design of the room and the equipment was too advanced for that.

The logical mind would suggest he had simply been comatose for a few years, and yet remained in Denmark, and yet…logical minds would have had to step aside for now, as it seemed the two doctors in the room – technically only one seemed dressed for the rank of 'doctor', while the younger woman seemed more likely to be her assistant – were waiting for him to accept their presence.

When he did so, the older woman stepped forward, a concerned, but pleasant smile on her expression;

"How are you feeling?"

"Gaarraupe hasa doooian heir?"

What.

Seriously, had someone drugged him, date-raped him and… what _did_ come after the date-rape? Most likely it would be filing a complaint to the police, but since he clearly was not in any capacity of doing just that…he really had no choice but to simply observe their reactions. _I feel so…calm. Is this what the voice meant?_

" _Correct. Your emotions are being suppressed for the time being, enabling you a somewhat more clear perspective."_

" _You…are here?"_

"… _Yes, I-"_

"Melissa, I thought I told you to take him off the drugs already. I mean _listen_ to him." the older doctor, who Thomas would've guessed to be somewhere in the sixties, looked at her younger assistant with sort of an amused look. _Called it, drugs... wait, 'take him off'?_

"Yes ma'am, cutting off the supply now." As she spoke, the assistant moved over to his bedside and unhooked several tubes filled with strange liquids. Thomas didn't know if he wanted to know what they actually _were_. While his jaw and tongue were awakening, he took a closer look at his two hosts. Both were clad in some kind of bodysuit – medicinally oriented, clearly, but still foreign –, looking strangely familiar, but still very strange.

"Dank you… _thank_ you." he moved his jaw a bit to get blood circulating again; "Not to… sound _rude_ or something, but… would one of you care to tell me where- "

Then he saw it. The older doctor was holding a piece of electronic hardware. It was, however, not just any kind of hardware, far from it, at that... It looked like something he'd seen before... in a game, of all things. Generally, Thomas liked to keep up with technological developments, so he felt like he would have known, had this kind of hardware been made common use.

When his brain finally made up the puzzle – the strange room, the advanced equipment, the body-suit-like uniforms, and now the datapad in the doctor's hand – it felt like someone had smacked him with a hammer, appropriate headache accompanying.

He felt sick.

"Bu -Bucket!" he turned his head away from the two doctors, as a surging feeling, like a wave, rolled through his body. He then proceeded to paint the wall to his left, spewing out the contents of his stomach in a thick stream of painfully burning acid and… _carrots_?

" _Ah. I did not foresee this reaction."_

He simply kept going, throwing up more than he could even remember having eaten for the past weeks. It just kept coming, and there was no stopping it... when at last he must have emptied his entire body of anything not glued to the insides, he gasped for air. It tasted like his own puke, which was really not all that surprising, and for a brief second, the world was green. The women obviously were not used to this reaction to waking up, for which few rational beings could blame them. At the present, however, Thomas was hardly _rational…_ He frankly didn't give a shit about being rational.

He had never felt this bad before, and it made his initial headache seem trivial and petty. _Someone just kill me…_

 _"Now that would be counter-productive"_

Grief threatened to strangle him, and he felt every ounce of energy leave him. Closing his eyes, Thomas threw his head back on the pillow, uttered what came out as a mangled, hoarse cry, and was left unable to move at all. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks, and he wasn't even aware of it.

He was in the future. So far into the future, that any shreds of hope of ever seeing anyone he knew again, was long gone.

 _"…All of them... Mom, Dad, all my friends... they're all dead... now what?"_

 _"You chose this. Now you must leave your old life behind."_

 _"Shut up…just…just shut up."_ He wept. He wept for the life he had lost, for the family he would never see again, and for the friends who were now long dead; _"I just…I don't…_ know _how I'm going to just…accept this."_

 _"I am sorry, if it means anything"_ the Voice offered solemnly.

 _"What do I_ do _? I can't… I can't…"_ he wasn't even sure what was real anymore. Hs body felt like it was on fire and made of ice at the same time, and he more than anything else just wanted to take back his choices. He'd never meant this, never _wanted_ this.

 _"Try to adjust to this new place. It is one you know well, after all."_

"I can't… this is not real… this is not… it's not…" I wept until his eyes no longer held tears, not giving a shit that people could hear him talking to himself. They weren't _real_ , they could just go fuck themselves, in his honest opinion.

 _"Yes..."_

"Yes? Is that your final answer?" I ask, my voice hoarse with grief and rage. I don't even care anymore, just wanting to take the rage and pour molten steel over that sarcastic, annoying and altogether unemotional bitch of a voice.

" _You do know that both the doctor and her assistant can hear you, do you not?"_

" _Do I seem to care? No? Then fucking stop talking to me like this is all just fine and normal."_ He snarled, his face itching with dried tears and anger; " _Why the fuck am I here? Is this some sort of sick joke?"_

" _I am not the one who wanted this for you Thomas."_ The Voice replied with the same, irritatingly solemn tone; _"Please understand that I have only placed you here, in this time and location, because I believe you capable of carrying out great deeds."_

" _Fuck your deeds…"_

" _By the Master… Fine, you desire the truth? You will have it then. You died because you didn't pay attention to the train you knew was coming. So it's on you. I even gave you the choice of being reborn in your own world, but Nnnnooooooo, you wanted to face the final frontier."_ If anything, the Voice at last sounded like his last straw had been yanked out. Not that Thomas gave two shits about the feelings of a disembodied voice in his head: Had _it_ lost friends, family and everything it knew?

No. No it hadn't. So it could go fuck itself.

" _I heard that."_ The Voice growled, a feeling of dread entering Thomas' mind with its words; _"Now you are here, so stop moping over things you cannot change, and as you humans say: Man the fuck up."_ A jolt of energy ran through his veins with those words, and another green flash enveloped his vision, only to fade away moments later; _"Even if I have to pump you full of steroids, I will not have my first Host in nearly a century reducing himself to an emotional wreck before he has carried out anything great."_

Thomas paused. His mind flooded, both with memories of his own life, and images not of his own. They were of death, destruction and chaos, the effects of the coming war. Fire, explosions, disaster, grief and despair roamed the visions, choking him with smoky sensations.

He realized, that he didn't have a choice. He wasn't going to get a second chance, and the only way he would make it, was to ensure that the Harvest never came to pass. Whether or not those were his own thoughts originally, he didn't know, but he knew it wasn't important.

What was important was that it was true.

" _See? That wasn't so hard. Now, I'm going to tamper a bit with your nervous systems, giving you a shot of… let's just say I'm going to improve your resolve a bit"_

"… Did you do?" Thomas blinked as the world came back into focus. He realized that he hadn't actually moved since the start of the mental conversation, and that the medical staff seemed to worry more than they should. He turned his head, looking at them argue.

"Me?! I didn't do anything! I just unhooked the damn tubes" The assistant retorted angrily, seemingly having been accused of being responsible for his mental collapse. Thomas honestly didn't know if he was supposed to care, interrupt or simply observe them. In the end, he chose the latter, as it demanded the least effort.

"Well, something made him lose it - and look at the heart rates! They're insane! It almost looks like he's having a stroke! Give him a sedative before we have to revive him… again." The older woman barked. Thomas didn't get a chance to change his mind concerning his involvement, as the assistant pumped fresh sedatives into his system.

"Alright, let's see. This should do it…" when he regained conscience, Thomas could see through his almost closed eyes. The assistant was moving in, holding… something. Wait, was that a… _Oh fuck me!_

"No! No! no! no no no no!" he would have jolted up in bed, if it wasn't because his left leg was still in plaster, as well as his body still being strapped in, and his entire system of innards being completely empty. In short, he wasn't going anywhere.

The assistant – Melissa was her name? – was standing at the ready with a _huge_ syringe, looking like poking people was her favorite part of the job. Too bad _he_ wasn't having any of that.

"Oh, you are awake, good" the doctor looked pleased. She _did_ frown at the smell of his stomach's contents, however.

"There is no way in Hel you are sticking _that_ thing in me!" he declared, gesturing towards the woman with the needle. He may not have been afraid of chitty chatting with Death, but needles?

Go. Fuck. Yourself.

It was strange, really, He'd once been hit by a car on the highway, and the scariest thing during that time, was when the doctor wanted to sedate him with a needle. Half the cliental in the waiting area left because Thomas' agonized screaming and fearful shouting made them think the doctor practiced woo-do and torture. The poor man actually received several messages later on, complaining about the treatment of patients.

The most embarrassing part was that that was only eight years ago; a fourteen-year old boy, screaming like a little girl because the doctor tried to give him a sedative. Really, he was still ashamed to this day.

"Of course not – not now when you're awake and calm. It was just in case you had another stroke" The doctor said, smiling like she had anticipated this exact reaction. _Gods, do I ever hate hospitals…and doctors. And needles… and trigger-happy nurses._

"So, I can put this away?" the assistant asked while looking at her boss. It was disconcerting just how _disappointed_ she looked.

"… _Yes_ , Melissa."

"I…really don't mean to intrude or breach…something, but…I don't remember where I am." It was the truth, really. He knew the Voice – or whatever it really was – had placed him in the universe or time so created by the company of Bioware, but he had no idea of where or when, exactly. It had to be post-First Contact War, as the clothes looked too similar to what he remembered.

"You don't remember?" the doctor looked at him like he was the fragging' Messiah. He wanted to scream at her. _Just fucking tell me!_

"…No…Sorry, I'm just… really confused." Not to mention emotionally and mentally torn to shit, not that he could say that anyway.

"It's okay. After what you've been through, you can't exactly be expected to remember." She said, putting on a mother hen like expression.

"Oh and Melissa, would you see to get a drone in here to clean our patient's... _waste_ from the floor?"

"Yes ma'am." the assistant left for a short moment, and then returned, whispering something in the doctor's ear. A moment later, a small robotic cleaner rolled across the floor, sucking up the yellowish vomit while scenting the air, removing the putrid smell of acid.

Handy.

"…So…" I mutter, trying to massage the migraine from my head; "… what _did_ happen?" This was probably where they told him how he was dropped from the sky, through some kind of wormhole. Not that he really gave a shit at the moment. _Don't fucking judge me, I just became an orphan…_

"To be honest, we don't really know. They found you under the monorail, with several broken bones, burns and a concussion, not to mention you were wearing some rather strange clothes." The older woman noted, holding up what looked like… _wait, is that… my T-shirt?_

That was when he looked down his own body, and froze. Aside from undergarments and socks, he was naked as the day he was born, only with more chest-hair.

Bugger.

"About the time we had the most _wicked_ thunderstorm in years, alright. Hell, it even had the garrison nervous." Melissa commented, shrugging as she looked out the window. At least now there wasn't any thunderstorms, only a warm sun bathing the ground, with scents of pollen and pine trees wafting in through the open window. Still…

 _The monorail… could I be… no, but…Fuck, stop thinking like Mordin, this isn't a game…_

" _Funny choice of-"_

" _Shut it"_ Thomas snarled, putting as much malice as possible into the threat of imminent death… if only he knew how to kill the Voice. _Okay… breathe…breathe… remember those yoga-classes… breathe… fuck, Linda would have my ass for poor execution of breath if she saw me now…_

For some reason, the thought of his Yoga-teacher actually brought a small smile to his lips… then he remembered… she was now dead as well. The smile didn't stay, and his expression fell into one of simple resignation. He knew no one here, not anymore. Everyone he knew had long-since died, if he even was in the same dimension at this point.

He was almost certain as to his current time and place, and that would mean the game had never been made all those years back, which meant this was no longer his dimension. Shit, it was getting complicated.

"…Which country am I in, what city?... And what monorail, am I near the harbor?" he tried, taking deep breaths while attempting to calm himself enough down as to not faint again. It was not something he wanted repeated, especially because the nurse still had a syringe close on hand.

"I am sorry, you asked about it before but then I forgot to-" the doctor received a soft jab from her assistant, prompting something sounding like a snigger from the doorway across the room. Thomas blinked at the direction, but refocused at the doctor again. She and Mellissa seemed to have a good interaction… too bad, if she said Eden Prime, since then they were all going to die.

"You are on Eden Prime." Thomas didn't even bother repressing a groan, which it seemed the older woman didn't catch at all; "More specifically, you are currently in the St. Michel hospital, or simply the main medicinal facility"

So… that was it, then. _Yay, we are all dead… again, in my case._

"…Eden Prime?... Are you saying that I am on Eden Prime, as in the colony world?" It would be rather nice if he was not on the planet destined to be attacked by Saren, thus kicking off whatever sick mission Shepard would be running through in 2183.

"Well, as far as I know, this is the only Eden Prime, world or otherwise" the doctor said with a smile, like she had just presented her grandchild with a home-knitted sweater. Thomas felt a shiver running down his spine, realizing that he had no idea _when_ Saren would attack. He knew the _year_ , however, so maybe he was lucky and they were currently in 2182.

"…What year is this?" he muttered, trying not to look at their faces; "A lot of things are a little…off, I just want to be sure."

"It's, august first, 2183. The monorail is our main connection to the various dig sites and the space port" The old doctor replied, idly tapping her chin with a finger as she spoke.

August 1. Dammit, they never mentioned what month it was in the game, meaning Thomas was completely blank as to how long he had until Saren reared his ugly mug. The Turian could land in a day, a week or even a month, and either would be a surprise.

"Well, Private, you seem to be in one piece... we might as well get you up." The doctor said – Thomas realized he didn't know her name -, stepping over to him as the small drone rolled away, an annoyingly merry tune coming from its… something.

"Okay I'll just… Private?" Why had she called him 'Private'? Far as he was aware, he hadn't even gotten around to enrolling in the Alliance at this point, considering he'd only just woken up…

"Well, that's what your files say. Private Thomas Fisker, 212th… You are Scandinavian, I take it?" she seemed amused, if anything.

"Oh… I just… Right, yes, of course" at this point, he might as well stop looking like he was clueless about the ongoings around him. If he was enrolled in the Alliance, he wasn't going to question good fortunes, regardless of how odd it was.

It also was not because he didn't want to end up saving the galaxy with Shepard. There was just the small detail that he was most likely going to get his ass killed before actually making any kinds of difference. If there was one thing the instructors had _drilled_ into him back home – aside from always saluting your commanding officer – it was that war was hell. no glory, no heroics, just needless deaths.

The role of a good soldier was to make sure those deaths were suffered by the bad guys.

 _Fuck, I can just imagine it: "Alliance Marine, killed by pissing off Krogan Battle master"_

Not really how he wanted to go… again. That, or a geth would just shoot him, or a merc would shoot him, or a Reaper would shoot him, or a Collector would shoot him… _something_ would shoot him.

That was almost a guarantee…

"Good to see your memory working again." The doctor said, pulling out that eternal datapad; "Private First Class, Thomas Vestergaard Fisker, Unit 212, Dog Squad. Just have to get you some proper clothes first... The head-trauma does leave some worries though. Tell me, do you remember getting here?"

Dammit!

"Well… I… no, I don't actually… I don't remember much, to be honest." he muttered. Which was true: he really had no idea of how his body ended up here - this place wasn't even supposed to exist outside the screen of his pc. Thor help him, but this wasn't going to be easy on his mental stability.

"Ah, there we go. Yes, it seems you arrived here on the MSV Malcolm."

What. He'd gotten here on a ship? This was just getting weirder and weirder by the second. He wondered if that creepy voice arranged any of this…

" _Why yes, of course I did. Couldn't just leave you here without a story."_

If he weren't still strapped in, Thomas would now be clinging to the ceiling. The sudden appearances of the Voice were starting to really get on his nerves, It was not that the Voice was creepy, at all. It was rather human actually, akin to an old man, but still young or… shit, he didn't even know. It was like describing a new color: Difficult.

"Something wrong, dear?" The doctor seemed worried, and Thomas noticed beads of sweat rolling down his face, along with the beeping from the heart rate increasing in speed. _Yep, near-heart attack…_

Oh, if she only knew. It would probably earn him a sedative, then a strap jacket if Thomas told her 'Hey doctor, I hear voices, is that normal?'.

The entertainment-value would certainly be lost on her. Doctors didn't tend to have a lot of appreciation for that kind of things.

"No, no I am fine, just a… hiccup."

" _Fuck's sake, what are you doing here? I thought it was one chat, then out off your way?"_

" _Oh I'm afraid not. See, it is my job to watch over you for at least two days after you regain conscience, to evaluate your progression and determine your…sufficiency. And it's only been 24 minutes."_

" _Okay… I suppose I gotta ask; why here?"_

" _Well, I wanted something great, and you are the best candidate for doing just that. Just not in your own world."_

" _Quick question though: There are_ millions _of people like me. They all love the franchise, and a few of them are bound to be fucking US Marines. How come you picked a Homeland Security to do this?"_

" _You asked for a new life, I granted it."_ Fucking didn't really answer the question though.

" _So, I can never go back? It's like you said, no turning back?"_ The pain flared up again, causing his breathing to grow ragged as he tried fighting down the tears. This time, at least, he could hold them back. It stung, but he managed. Sometimes, it felt like his entire life had just been about managing.

" _Quite so, yes."_

" _Then… Then what happened to my family, my friends… my job?"_ he wasn't even sure why he asked about the last part, as he had little love for the people at the workplace. Nor did he particularly care for the job itself, and the boss was an outright arse.

" _Well, in_ that _dimension, the paramedics pulled out a mangled corpse from under the train. They tried reviving you, but to no avail."_

" _Fuuuuuck… So, was I… burried?"_

" _Why yes, of course you were. It would be strange just to dump the body in the harbor, but perhaps that's the custom in Denmark?"_

" _No, of course not! I, well, I'm just curious as to… how my closest handled it, is all."_

" _Well, they were not happy, I'll tell you that. But seeing as there is no way you'll ever see them again, short of them dying and ending up here that is, I suggest you move on."_

Thomas sighed, unwilling to really accept that his choice was made, that he had crossed the point of no return. And yet, he knew he had. He had been killed in an accident, given a choice, and – despite his initial misgivings – accepted the choice that now had him here, on Eden Prime.

He still didn't want to simply resign to this new life, but at the same time, he knew he might as well just bite the bullet, and let life go in dry. Seemed like it always did, whether or not he liked it.

"…So, when do I get out of here, then?" he asked, trying to figure out why both women were now looking oddly at him. He hadn't soiled himself audibly at some point, had he?

"Are you…well, Private?" the older woman asked him, tilting her head ever so slightly as she stepped closer, datapad once again in hand.

"I have a headache, but…yes, why?" he knew it was tempting the universe to ask that question, but the stares directed at him were somewhat…unnerving. The nurse seemed keen on reaching for the syringe again, and her superior didn't seem keen on stopping her at all.

What had changed?

"Your files don't seem to indicate a case of mild schizophrenia, so as a doctor it is my duty to ask whether or not your consciousness is split, so to speak?" the doctor inquired, one finger raised above her pad's screen, as if she was prepared to take notes. Thomas stared at her for a full second, blinking rapidly when he realized she'd somehow heard him conversing with the Voice.

" _I am not imaginary, if that is what you imply"_

" _Says the voice to the only person who can hear it"_ he muttered, looking at the women.

"I am not schizophrenic." He replied simply, briefly unsure of what else to say. Then, he remembered something he'd never actually thought would be a useful sentence; "I just…simulating conversations. It helps me think."

" _Your being here should sufficiently validate me, I believe."_

" _Or this might just be a comatose dream."_ Thomas shot back, not taking his eyes off the doctor. The older woman in question seemed to hesitate at his reply.

"Well, as long as you keep that to a minimum, I think we can send you on your merry way." The doctor said, tapping some commands into her wrist-worn computer, the Omnitool.

Honestly, the grief was likely still getting to him, because Thomas was nowhere as shocked at seeing that _thing_ as he should have been. Or, it could've been some residue from the drugs. Either way, he just stared at the device now, not even questioning its existence.

* * *

August 1st

Eden Prime, St. Michel medical clinic

14:27

The medical facility was something between a full-sized hospital, and a regular medically stocked prefab. It had the common, white and metallic dull walls, as well as doors that opened whenever someone walked past them. A rather annoying factor if you happened to work behind a desk and the passing of any single person made your door hiss open. Since she wasn't employed behind a desk though, the Gunnery Chief could hardly care.

Ashley Williams, still clad in her Phoenix-armor from being fresh back from the drillings, leaned against the frame of the door, listening in as innocently as she could while also trying to get a gauge on the marine. She had been spending just a few minutes standing there, trying to decipher whether the guy was outright insane, or was dealing with some weird schizophrenia.

The latter would be odd, seeing as his records didn't state anything about him suffering from it, nor having already been in combat before. From what the documents told her, he was fresh from the European Federation Enforcer Corps, from the Kalmar Battalions, units that had not seen action since the end of the Baltic Transgressions in '31.

So, trained but not tested. Still, she would have to figure out if whatever he suffered from was a severe handicap. Dog Squad was a hard unit, as she had made it a hard unit, and they didn't have room for those with too many needs. Still, the EFEC had rather high standings with the Alliance Military, so she would give him a shot.

From what she knew of Scandinavians, they had _very_ old-fashioned cultures. They didn't even _bury_ people, but instead cremated them. Traditionally, this was done on pyres, high-ranking officials even getting a ceremonial pyre on a ship, which was also burned, often at sea.

They didn't believe in Heaven, nor in God, but instead in a pantheon older than Christianity itself. People who died either went to Hell – was it with one or two 'l's? – or to Valhalla. The latter was a pagan version of Paradise, consisting of three key factors: Eat, Drink, Fight.

Still, pagan and old-fashioned as they might be, Asatru had never engaged in religious wars, and they put most other religions' early histories to shame when it came to tolerance. So, if nothing else, she didn't have a problem with it, them, _him_.

Not yet, anyway.

"I am not schizophrenic." The man said from beyond the door; I was just…simulating conversations. It helps me think."

Ashley huffed at that, the explanation sounding like either a weird-ass philosophy, or the result of the doctors having actually given him the good drugs. That assistant of the doctor's always did seem trigger-happy with the syringes.

His voice sounded young too, younger than her usual recruits. Of course, she had had some trouble caring about his age when Dog Squad had found their newest member, roasted and burned beneath the monorails. He'd either been hit repeatedly by lightning, or someone had taken a Firestorm to the poor shit.

"Well, as long as you keep that on a minimum, I think we can send you on your merry way." Ashley picked herself up from the wall at that, taking it as her cue to shut off the Omnitool and focus on giving off a good first impression to the new soldier.

It was always important, especially with Scandinavians. Most Union soldiers she had met had been some cocky shits.

She kinda hoped this one was different.

* * *

"By the way, the officer who found you at the rails is waiting outside. I can send her in if you are feeling ready for visitors. Oh, a word of advice. She will also be your _commanding_ officer as long as you're stationed here, so try not to make a mortal enemy of her, alright?" The doctor added, sounding like it was something of a funny story already, what with Thomas' new boss, and all.

Shit, was he ready for this?

Not that it was a question, seeing as he wasn't actually given a choice in the matter. The best he could do was simply to ease the transition, and pray that his superior officer _wasn't_ who he both hoped and feared it could be. He knew Ashley Williams led a unit in the 212th, but he also knew that would she happen to become his commanding officer, it would be…difficult, keeping a straight face.

These two women were people he had never encountered before, so they were…normal, to put it like that. Ashley Williams, however, he had gotten to know as a computer-generated character. He had, quite frankly, no idea what she would look like in real life.

"Alright, I guess I'm ready to meet my new boss." He forced his voice confident, and sat up straight in the bed. His legs were still strapped in, meaning he couldn't actually leave yet. Were they afraid he would bail?

"So, you up yet, Burn-bag?"

So much for a professional working-relationship. He knew the voice before he even registered it as belonging to her, and his expression became a solid mask of stupor. If that was even a thing. If not he could now declare it as such, for when he turned to look at the doorway again, an armored woman had stepped forth, her head uncovered by the helmet clipped to her hip.

There she was. Gunnery Chief Ashley Madeline Williams, more beautiful than the game could ever make her. Thomas blinked, and completely failed to register the nurse unstrapping his legs. His eyes were torn between looking at the Gunnery Chief, and anywhere _but_. _Stop staring! Fuck me, stop staring!_

He had to face it now: She was beautiful, in the way that a Valkyrie would outshine mortal women.

And still, she was the same as in the game, somehow. He wasn't sure how to put it, not really.

Clad in the white and pink armor that made her so iconic during the first and second game, she carried a hand canon on her hip, and had both arms crossed before her chest. She was leaning against the doorframe in cocky, confident manner, radiating control and strength. The armor was displaying her forms, and… _no! Bad brain, shame. Don't think like that about someone you've only just met._

Still, she didn't seem bothered by his no-doubt odd stare, and Thomas found himself surprisingly grateful that he would serve under her. It was definitely going to be weird, initially, but at the same time, he felt like maybe this was not so bad again.

Thoughts of Shepard had completely dissipated from his mind.

Her dark hair was tied up in the same knot as in the game, leaving all her face to be marveled upon. Her lightly tanned skin almost seemed to shine in the incoming light, giving her expression a deep, soft character. There was strength, and determination, but there was also a woman passionate about her duty, and the lives depending on her performing it.

"Yes, Ma'am. I… am up and about." He said, breathing in, as he tried not to look anywhere but her face. _For Tyr's sake, pull yourself together, and stop blushing!_

"No need to 'Ma'am' and 'Chief' me yet, Rookie. You're still not officially enrolled in this colony's military force. By the way, I never got your name. You weren't really in any condition to answer when we found you under the tracks, looking like a fried pork chop."

She just had to rub it in, didn't she?

"Thomas, ma'am, Thomas Fisk- _Fisher_. Though… you may just call me Fisher, or…or Thomas. I prefer Thomas, if you… don't mind." he said, rubbing his neck in, what some would call, slight embarrassment. For a guy who had never possessed the ability to _really_ talk to women, it felt more like he was being cooked in his own skin.

"I'm Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams." She replied, allowing him a reprieve; "However, until we are in the field or training, you can just call me Ash or Chief. And by the way, you might wanna have your teeth cleaned..." she frowned, though there was definitely a grin behind it; "…you smell a little like…"

"…Like puke?" he asked, blushing with shame. Gods be damned, he had completely forgotten about that. What would be next, he'd look down and find he wasn't wearing any… _Fuck me, I do really have no pants on…_

Seemingly catching his thoughts, Melissa tossed him his pants. They were torn to shit below the knees, but that wasn't even from the train-accident. Thomas sent her a grateful nod – he might as well be polite - as he pulled on the jeans, feeling a bit more comfortable with pants on. Ashley grinned at the scene, holding a fist before her mouth, failing in hiding a smile while she nodded;

"Yeah, a bit." She admitted, looking like she was overall just finding the situation funny. With the T-shirt in hand, he shake his head before pulling it on. It smelled like soap.

"Sorry about that ma'… Ashley. I just… the medication must have… I don't know, just felt… sick." he ended up mumbling, not sure how the Hel to finish the line. Thomas was feeling pretty sure he'd just effectively fucked up the first impression anyway. Then came his old, dark-red hoodie, before he finally pulled on the leather-jacket.

Somehow, he wasn't really surprised to find his shoes absent. Instead, a pair of dull, army-issued shoes – they seemed to use grafts instead of laces – were waiting at the edge of the bed.

When he was done, had said his thanks to the doctor – he had still not learned her name – and Melissa, Ashley took him outside the clinic.

He was, at first, stunned at just how normal the colony looked. When he'd realized where he was, Thomas had halfway expected the outside of Eden Prime to look like Pandora. Of course, it was a temperate Garden-world, and humans called it 'paradise'. A such, he had not really expected it to look just like Denmark, minus the cliffs.

"Well alright then, how about I show you the colony, and we finish off by the barracks. That will, by the way, be your new home here." She smiled, gesturing for him to follow her to a military-looking jeep, complete with sleek, angled surfaces of dark metal.

So, they were driving?

* * *

Eden Prime, Constant

14:38

Well, this was an odd recruit, no question there.

Ashley couldn't quite put her finger on why, but it was as if he really did carry around some sort of deep emotional trauma. And yet, it was like he was looking at something… holy, whenever she caught him in looking at her. Asatru had some sort of warrior women, she knew that, but couldn't quite recall the term.

Christ, it was like yesterday, when Donkey had tried, rather poorly and obviously, to seduce her at the bar. Poor guy really, didn't know what to say or when. Still, she preferred to keep things more professional between them. Especially with Colonial Command just waiting for an excuse to take her hard-earned rank away.

"So, this is the town hall, where I suspect you'll be spending at least _some_ time stationed as guard. Don't get the wrong idea. Just because we're military, it doesn't mean we get to skip guard duty." She said, pointing at the center of all administration and political commerce in the colony. Fisher seemed to marvel at the Foxhound-Jeep, even though it was a decade-old model, and viewed everything with large eyes.

City-kid. No doubt there. He'd probably never seen a colony before.

"Huh… so, you said 'we' found me. Who else picked up my charred hide?" Thomas asked her, causing Ashley to release a small smile at the memory of Norroty's words when they came upon the new recruit.

' _Damn… he looks like he got hit by lightning…that, or the Devil took a piss on him.'_ It was rather fitting, she thought while looking back at it, seeing as he apparently _had_ been hit by lightning.

"…A few others from Dog squad. We're the main infantry fighting force of the 212th, but the guys who found you were me, Donkey, Nadang, Pennyloafer and Norroty." She replied, driving on, down the newly paved streets. Eden Prime's colony wasn't old enough to have a fully established road-system, but they were getting there, if slowly.

Mainly because the administration had their heads up their asses. The rookie seemed to ponder at something for a few moments;

"…Donkey?" He asked, and Ashley didn't blame him for it, as Donkey _was_ a pretty odd name. Still, it was better than the name his mother had given him, hence why people just called him Donkey, no problems, when they found out his real name. Thát, and he could deliver a nasty kick on the sparing mats.

"Yeah, our Sergeant. Ordinarily, you'd report to me in the field, but command… believes he can do a better job of running the men." She said, finding herself biting down the anger in her voice. To hell with those ignorant jackasses, and to hell with the Williams Curse.

"Odd… wait, hold… okay, can I ask something that is bound to sound just as stupid as I know it's going to sound?" Fisher asked, causing her to look back at him, almost driving into a passing civilian in the process.

He seemed to have a thoughtful frown on his face, which was, she had to admit, not all that bad looking. Sure, his hair was unkempt from the week in a near-coma, and he had a few scars too, but… nah, he looked normal actually.

Though, there was something about his eyes, like there was…something deeper behind them. Not that she looked much into his eyes, but she had an eye for detail, and noticed it when they were introduced. They were blue, yes, but at the same time seemed to carry sparks of green. Not _flecks_ , like most normal eyes would, but actually bright sparks.

"Shoot, as long as it doesn't concern why Donkey is leading." She said. Thomas raised a finger, then promptly lowered it again, making it clear that thát had been _exactly_ what he was going to ask.

Still, the pouting look on his face, looking like a saddened child, was too much for her to resists, odd as it was, so she gave in, despite knowing she was going to regret it; "… _Fine_ , what is it?"

"You are Ashley Williams?" His question was enough to make her nearly hit an oncoming truck when she sent the jeep sideways over the line. Of course she was Ashley Williams, who the fuck else did he think she was? She frowned at him, making it clear that his sense of humor was _not_ appreciated.

"Deduction is high on your priorities, I see." She remarked. His smile withered, then he rubbed his temples before responding;

"Right, not what I meant… I mean, you are pretty…" He started, the last words giving her a small blush. Few people ever called her 'pretty', Donkey being among them; "… _known_ , even on Earth."

Oh, she realized he had just been trying to find the right words. Still, his words were still rather surprising. Or not, really, considering her heritage. Everyone knew about Shanxi, and who had surrendered to the Turians.

"Aha… and, if I might ask, _why_ am I famous?" She asked, tapping a finger on the wheel before looking him in the eye. Yep, there was still that… oddity, in them. Like flashes of green that weren't really there.

"Well… ah fuck, I mean… Tor, I just realized this is making me sound like a stalker…" He muttered, slapping a hand over his face before daring it downwards in a rather comical fashion. If Ashley wasn't interested before, she was now.

"Okay _, spill it."_ She borderline ordered him, pulling the vehicle to a stop. He grew even redder, like he was being asked to pull down his pants in public. Hell, he even started fidgeting. Which, she supposed, could be a sign of weakness to most.

"I've… been… I've _read_ a lot about you." He said, sounding like each word was dragged from him with rusty pliers. God, but was he red in the face now.

"Such as?" She asked, starting to find this more amusing than annoying. She had no idea what stuff he had read, considering that she doubted much was ever written about her, maybe aside from the occasional documentaries digging through her family.

"I… the… Williams Curse, they say… well, I just… think it's a load of bullshit. From what I've read, the people in command say your family is cursed or some shit…I dunno, it's just… sorry, I suck at small talk and I always end up either babbling or straying off to shitty subjects. Can we just… _drop it_ again, and like, pretend I never even asked?"

Now even his ears were red, which was making it somewhat impossible not to smile at his awkwardness. Better have Nadang see if he couldn't teach the newbie the ropes, she surmised.

Still, what he said was… surprisingly honest, for a stranger.

Most of the people who agreed with her on that subject were her unit, who had known her for at least a few months, taking Bolin into account. To have a fresh recruit praise her, as a matter of fact stating that he had bothered reading up on her, was strangely pleasing. She gave him a friendly smile, giving his shoulder a smack to tear away some of that nervousness.

"Hey, thanks Burn-bag. Now, let's get a move on, shall we?" she said, pulled the hand-brake and kicked the jeep back into action.

* * *

Eden Prime, Constant

Garrison Barracks.

19:22

When they finally made it back to the barracks, Thomas didn't really know what to say.

Crap, he'd pretty much wasted any sort of chance he had at being viewed as a normal person by her when he'd started blurting out shit about the Williams Curse. She solved that problem – somehow – by extending her hand again, and he took it, feeling the Kevlar – or whatever the stuff on the inside of her gauntlets was made of – rub against his palm.

"Nice to meet you Thomas Fisher, although from tomorrow, you'll call me Chief." She gave him another one of her smiles, and nodded. Damn, far as he remembered, she was never in a mood this good in the game, before Shepard and her… well, that was something for another time. He knew the best thing to do at that point was simply to cheer her on.

Or something like that.

"…And I guess you'll be calling me Private Fisher? By the way, I assume we rise at six-thirty?" that was when the Force back home had kicked people out of bed.

Thomas found himself smiling at her. It really was hard not to smile when talking to this woman. Especially because she seemed happy with the comment about the curse being a load of dung. Funny though, that he hadn't been hungry all day. It could probably blamed – or credited, he wasn't sure which – to the fact that he'd apparently been fed via tubes while in a coma. Yeah, great start to a new life, being fed through tubes and piss through one too.

"Be up at 06:00. If not, there is no grub. Dismissed Private Fisher" She said, smiling again, though fainter, and with a more official tone.

Ashley gave him a salute, which he returned with the kind of mirrored perfection drilled into you by a military force needing to train you to do _something_ , seeing as they couldn't teach you to drive tanks. When she turned and left, undoubtedly going to finish some report, Thomas smiled, mostly to himself. _Ahh, the benefits of low rank._

" _Indeed, you do seem to have adjusted remarkably well, given the place and time."_

" _Were you listening in on that?"_

" _Your thoughts, your arousal over her forms, or your conversation?"_

" _Dafuq!? All of those!"_

"… _. No. Besides, you really need to stop swearing that much"_

" _Who the hell are you? my moth… never mind!"_

" _You must admit, it was interesting to have an actual conversation with someone who were just pixels on a screen a few weeks ago. Or do you still think this is a game?"_ the Voice asked, eternally smug and stoic at the same time.

" _Of course it was interesting."_ Thomas bit out; " _You're not_ supposed _to meet people like that in real life, so yes: I admit it was pretty damn awesome, but also more than just a little shaking."_

Still. There was nothing he could do now, but acclimatize. He was enrolled in the Alliance Military, and he was going to be serving under Ashley Williams. Not as her friend, confidante or lover, but as her soldier.

He might as well get used to that. And really, it wasn't _that_ bad. In the end, he palmed the interface on the door to the barracks, and stepped inside.

"So, Mister Crispy has returned from the dead." A voice instantly declared, maybe as a greeting?

Considering the burns still covering his lower thighs, Thomas wouldn't be surprised if he'd already gained a nickname.

The voice belonged to a dark-skinned guy, black hair braided from the front of his head and to the back in lines. He was sitting in a chair, faced with the door, a book on his lap, while a good bunch of others were back-turned towards where Thomas had entered.

A look as he entered revealed the odd fact that they seemed to be playing cards. They didn't seem to notice his arrival, to which Thomas could only shrug. _Huh… well, still a better reception than what I usually gets…_

At the man's greeting, the rest looked up as well, five new faces looking at Thomas with mild amusement. One had bright, yellow hair and a stocky, and yet strikingly feminine build, while retaining a boyishly amused look on his face.

Another had red hair, as well as a small scar going over his lips, adding to the gruff look.

"Hi… I'm Private Thomas Fisher. This is…Dog Squad, right?" Thomas asked, mentally kicking himself for sounding like a bloody… something. Thomas hadn't honestly been this nervous since first day of school.

The rest got up too, sharing amused looks between them before beckoning for him to come over to them. Thomas, naturally, obliged, wanting the first meeting with his new squad-mates to go as smooth as possible. The biggest of the men stepped up, eyes examining Thomas.

It was a little weird, but evident that there was nothing malicious about it.

"So… you are the result of what a week in the hospital can do to charred meat? Gotta say, you already look like a veteran with the amount of scars and burns we found you with. I'm Donkey, by the way. Your new Sergeant." The yellow-haired man said, extending his hand. Looking at it, it took the Dane a _long_ moment to process that he was supposed to take it.

"Glad to meat… _meet_ you." he said, stumbling over the words. _Great, look like a weirdo. Why not?_

Still, he just smiled, gesturing for the rest of them to say hello too. Gods, did he hate meeting new people. Not because he didn't _like_ new people, but because he had a frustratingly solid record of saying or doing something that permanently fucked it up.

"Bolin Nadang, Corporal. I'll show you the ropes here, plus give you a pointer if you get lost." The dark-skinned guy said. Funny, his accent sounded more… Dutch or German, maybe. Maybe he was South African? "Trust me, we've all been new guys here at some point."

"Yeah, 'cept for Hillary." A gangly, dark-haired guy chuckled, gesturing at the blonde, boyishly-appearing guy at the…Thomas paused, blinking. That was a _girl_? He shook it off before anyone saw his expression, but still…damn, talk about being a tomboy. She grinned, sticking out her tongue while flipping him off; "Jim Norroty, Private, so we're equal what ranks are concerned, yes?"

"Long's your brains aren't equally small, I think you'll be fine here." 'Hillary' said, offering Thomas her hand. Now that he was closer, and knew she was a woman, it was clear as day, really; "I'm a private too, so do feel free to feel bad when I outscore you."

"She's _not_ talking about the shooting-range, let me tell ya that." An older-looking man, borderline bald, said, dodging the card Hillary sent at him like a shruiken; "Norman Bates, I'm the Squad's designated driver, pilot and slicer."

"He also performs at birthday parties." The first guy, the red-haired one, mused, drawing Thomas' eyes between them, unsure of what was going on. Bates held up a fist;

"He means I am a biotic." He replied to the unspoken question, and his hand glowed purple. Thomas nearly fell on his ass, but managed to keep it at a backwards step. _Brage on a Boar! Biotics!_

"Mikhail Ünalan, Lance Corporal and team sniper with Private Hillary." The red-haired guy said, a bit less informal than the rest of them, but still without contempt. Funny enough, only now, hearing his accent as clearly middle eastern, did Thomas realize his hair was dyed.

"Plus I get to carry the biggest gun." The woman commented, punching her own palm. Once more, Thomas had to look back at Norroty, who seemed the friendliest so far, aside from Donkey. Still, he'd rather ask another private.

"Penny's our heavy gunner." Bates, surprisingly, was the one who explained it; "She's the only one of us trained with the use of the H-Revenant-A rifle."

"Only one trained for a _lot_ of stuff." The woman commented, a snide smirk on her lips. Thomas, in the end, decided not to question it.

Dog Squad, after the introductions with the rest of the barrack's inhabitants were made, turned out to be just one squad in a barrack containing as many as four squads of ten, making it a lot of people to meet. Luckily, Thomas was just introduced to Saber Squad, because they had the people he needed to know in case of a natural disaster occurring.

"So, Thomas. You want in on a game?" Donkey asked, gesturing at the table with the dormant cards.

"I… yes, that sounds like fun." He replied, still taking the whole situation in. It was a surprisingly nice gesture of inviting him into their group, and he decided to take it.

As they sat down, he looked on as Ünalan shuffled the cards.

The moment Thomas sat on his designated chair, though, a long, realistically sounding fart erupted from underneath him, honestly scaring the crap out of him for the second it took him to realize that no, he did _not_ just break the chair or soil himself.

Giving the others a look of annoyed disbelief, he pulled the whoopee-cushion out from underneath his seat, holding it in the air while the others proceeded to laugh their asses off. He just sighed, realizing he should have expected a group of people who lived together like this to have an immature, yet appealing, sense of humor.

Hel, it _was_ pretty good, actually. Mainly because he'd fallen for it.

"Ah, don't be like that! We used to do way worse things to the new guys." Donkey said, choking on his laughing. Nadang too, had some trouble getting air before speaking;

"Yeah, you _don't_ wanna know what they did to me on my first day 'ere." He added, down to a chuckle. Thomas just shook his head, wondering how such things could even still exist so long after their invention. _I guess farty-pillows are just as immortal as the chair they were meant to lie on…_

Still, he couldn't help but smile at their antics, and grabbed his set of cards. Time to get them right back at it;

"Probably not. Alright, you guys know 'Asshole'?"

* * *

A/N

NORSE POWER!

Heh, jokes aside, I have found that one thing my time in New Zealand has given me, is a somewhat deeper connection to my own culture, specifically pre-Christian culture. It's one of the reasons I'm doing this rewriting, because writing Thomas as a Christian now feels...weird.

So, this will be the first of the rewritten chapters. I'm posting it as an update instead of a new story because I have realized that sometimes, new people still come in and start reading this, so I might as well do my best. Years of writing - yeah, that sounds just as weird to me as to you guys - have taught me a lot more about this stuff than when I started.

Until next time :)


	2. BCC

**A/N: Second rewritten chapter is here. Just like with Ch.1, this has been redone and remastered in 3rd person narrative.**

 **Enjoy :)**

* * *

 **Boot-Camp Constant**

* * *

August 2nd

Eden Prime, Constant

2nd Platoon Barracks

06:00

Thomas had never been the best sleeper. It came with insomnia, so there was usually nothing he could do but swallow his pills and hope for the best. As it was, the future – or whatever – seemed to hold much the same problem, though for a distinctly different reason.

" _I am amazed that you have already managed to become infatuated with that woman."_

"… _shut up…"_ he muttered in his head, stirring beneath the covers as the alarm clock went off.

However, the Voice was not entirely wrong.

Thomas didn't know what by Hel was happening with him, but for some reason, he couldn't stop thinking about that smile of hers. The smile on Ashley's lips when she had greeted him, when they had driven around the colony, and even just when she had dropped him off at the barracks.

It really was annoying, when combining that with the knowledge that he was going to see her running around with Commander Shepard, like a dog in a leash… _whoa, where did that thought come from?_

It wasn't going to help them in the long run, and he knew it wasn't very productive either.

Okay, time to straighten up.

The clock was still ringing, meaning his entire thought-process had lasted less than a minute.

The squad jumped from their covers and bunks, ignoring the scantly-clad state of Hillary in favor of getting the uniforms and boots on. Jim ended up falling flat from his bed, landing on the metal floor with enough swearing to put Magnus to shame... _Damn, I miss that guy._

It was hilarious watching him curse and swear as he got up, but Thomas kept that to himself, instead focusing on tying his shoes. No use in getting enemies on day one, even if most of the guys here were actually okay guys.

The others invited him to play cards, thinking maybe that Thomas didn't know how to whop their butts in 'Asshole'. He _did,_ however, and ended up playing with money, gentlemen… or not.

Thomas didn't have any cash, so he wagered the only thing he had at that point; latrine-duty.

Now, Jim would be on latrine-duty and Thomas was twenty credits rich(er). It wasn't much, mainly because very few people these days carried around hard cash in credits, and he himself didn't have a chit yet.

Apparently, Donkey was suffering from a major crush on Ashley, something Thomas found both hilarious and also a little sad. He suspected the sergeant would be sorely disappointed when Shepard came riding in. Unless… Shepard was a woman this time. Thát would probably make up for some mistakes, although he wasn't sure how.

This universe was a weird place in more than one way, so he decided to simply follow suit with whatever happened, and hope procedure was the same as the Homeland Defense.

"Well lads, let's go greet our delicious buffet" Aforementioned sergeant said, clapping his hands.

"Let's hope it's better than yesterday. I fucking _hate_ oatmeal." Bolin replied sourly, pulling on the non-descript military boots.

Thomas paused, processing the last word. Then, a smug grin started spreading on his face, one he did his best to turn away from his new colleagues. _They've got oatmeal here! Yes! I love that stuff_.

Although, the guy's comment did have him a little worried. What if they spoiled his only memory of oatmeal in this universe? That would suck. Especially because he really, frigging _loved_ oatmeal. _Gods, I hope there's a lot, and butter, and sugar, and cinamo-_

" _Yes! I get it! You have a profound fondness for the porridge of oat, milk and sugar, mixed with cinnamon and butter. By the Master, I am glad Ellehammer was not like this."_ The voice growled, cutting Thomas off. The recruit silently pondered what the problem could possibly be. Oatmeal was, to his reckoning, the single-most delicious and nutritious way of starting one's day, not to mention it was easy to make and-

" _Will you please_ _ **shut up**_ _about oatmeal? I despise that stuff."_ Thomas decided that further antagonizing the ghost-spirit-god-mental-case-being was likely a bad idea, and shut his thoughts down on the subject.

"So, how're you liking Constant so far?" it was Donkey who asked, walking next to Thomas on their way to the mess. The latter blinked, looking around as if to spot someone named 'Constant'. When the sergeant noticed that, he chuckled; "Right, not a colony-kid, I forgot. Constant's the colony here, the main settlement. We're in the outskirts, but still technically inside the borders."

"Oh." Damn, that was probably not the best first impression of professionalism; "It's a lot nicer than my last military camp, that's for sure."

"Scandinavia's not the paradise we hear it is?" Hillary Pennyloafer mused, walking with wide steps and both hands clasped behind her back. Thomas was momentarily struck by how much it reminded him of a little girl. A little girl with auburn hair and rattails. He shook it off, putting on a smile.

"Depends on where you go, really." He shrugged; "Our compound was in northern Jutland, so the weather was shit about half the year. The rest of the time tourists and assorted assholes would transform the streets into paved trashcans. And people wondered why I hated festival-weeks."

"Yeah, you won't get that here, so that's something at least." The woman said, sounding like she was highly amused, though he couldn't put his finger on what exactly it was; "We've only got one festival here, and you missed it by a month."

"Right."

The mess hall was in a nearby building, close enough to the barracks that a vehicle was uncalled for. Thus, the morning jog served to bring friskiness into their minds.

It was kind of a small place, considering the colony's armed forces consisted of twenty men per barracks, and some drivers for the Mako's. Having pondered that, Thomas wondered if and how he could get the colony to stock up on anti-synthetic rounds. Considering their probable high cost, he knew he couldn't just make the suggestion and hope for the best.

Oh yeah, he could just ask his new CO; 'Hey Ashley, we might want to stock up on disrupter rounds. Why, you say? Well, because of reasons'… yeah, thát would work.

Then again, maybe he could turn it so that the warning was more about the mercenary bands roaming the Terminus and the assorted pirates he "hoped" were close enough. He knew for a fact that the Eclipse utilized mechs, and so did the Blue Suns. _Shit, I'll have to figure something out with those two…but how?_

He decided to shelf those thoughts for later, seeing as he would only become grumpy, and someone would probably ask what his deal was. Bugger, but it was all he could do for now, and keep his eyes open for trouble. The group went for their trays, and Thomas discovered that this design hadn't changed a bit since his time in home defense.

The grub, or oatmeal, was every bit as disgusting as they had told him. It tasted like ashes, and looked like tapestry-glue. Thomas swore that this'd better be healthy as Hel, or he would do _things_ to the chef. Things that involved rope, a chair, and a forced lesson in culinary quality.

The other guys must have been stationed in the colony for a while, since while Thomas was mentally complaining, and close to puking, they just ate in silence. _Well, this morning is just fu- oh wait, Ash is coming towards our table._

She too, was carrying a bowl of the "delicious" oatmeal on her tray, as well as a mug of the cheap, black stuff Homeland Defense had taught Thomas only _looked_ like coffee.

Future though this might be, he doubted something as ingrained as crap-coffee would just vanish. Or improve. Same thing, really.

When she sat down, Ashley gave a more modest smile than yesterday. Thomas, still somewhere between tired and contemplating the point of digestion, returned the greeting with a nod and a small smile of his own. _Wonder if she only smiles like that when off duty_ ;

"Morning guys"

"Morning Chief" they responded in unison, sans himself – that was probably going to be something he'd have to learn –, and proceeded with eating. Ashley broke the silence, such as it was, by turning her attention on Thomas;

"Fisher, I trust you found your way into the barracks, shouldn't've been too hard, seeing how I left you just outside. Or perhaps you found it cozier to sleep under the monorail again" she said, grinning just a little while pouring some of the coffee directly into her oatmeal.

Thomas stared, focusing on the weird meal-combination, and _not_ on her eyes. _There's the cocky smile I missed…What am I talking about 'missed'? I've known her for a day._

"He did alright, Chief. Drained me of my spare-cash too in cards." Ünalan noted, sending Thomas a look that basically said 'you won't win next time'. Still, it was more good-natured than hateful, which would be odd if it wasn't, considering the Turkish corporal was remarkably good natured.

He curiously enough reminded Thomas of a different Turk, back in High School, even bearing the same name. _Still, completely different appearances…_

After the "luxurious" breakfast, Dog-Squad headed back to the barracks.

That was to say, the others did. Ashley gave Thomas a "come hither" finger. He briefly glanced at the direction of the rest of the squad, then resigned and followed his superior. _I'm beginning to doubt that what they taught me about her in the game can be used here._

"Alright Rookie, since you don't have any armor or weapons, you'll be heading for the armory now. Just down the street here, and to your left. Look for the sign that says "Bob's guns". He's got a deal with Garrison Command, to supply our troops with standard hardware. Just tell him Williams sent you, and he'll get you outfitted. When done, come back here and head for the shooting range. That's _that_ way." While she said this, she pointed at a large field where some targets were placed. _Yeah, I remember, we came past it yesterday._

"Alright, armor, guns and shooting range. Got it" Thomas nodded, standing as straight as he could.

"Got it?" she asked. Oh, he knew what to say now.

"Got it, Ma'am." He hoped that was the right answer. Well, it should be, considering they we're in the military and at work now, so the ranks should count.

"Good, now go; if it takes you more than thirty minutes, I'll be back there, hauling your ass back myself."

 _Oh, she could haul my- Dammit brain, I told you to stop that!_

" _Well, it seems that since I'm staying, I should take on the role as your bad conscience."_

" _Err, I guess that could work"_ having his own Devil and Angel on his shoulders could prove to be a good thing. But for some reason, he couldn't help the feeling that he had just accepted a conscience more depraved than his own, onto his shoulders.

Something Thomas had not been prepared for – though at this point he supposed he really should have – was the new and strange sensation it was to be strapped into a Hydra-class hardsuit. He had never worn hardsuits – or any kind of body-armor – before, as the Danish Homeland Defense, even the Danish Defense Force, which was the main army, simply did not deploy them outside of warzones. Thomas, being a member of the former, had never seen combat, and thus the prospect of what a hardsuit entailed, actually had him a little unnerved.

And yet, the feeling was anything but negative. The weight felt like putting on soaked woolen clothes, or something similar to it, and the dark-green plates when he rapped them with his knuckles felt like a place between steel and ceramics, meaning they were likely an alloy of the latter.

"This is awesome." He breathed, marveling at the gear. It was funny – just a little – to consider how many nations in the twenty-first century would have had him assassinated just to get their hands on what he was now wearing.

"Aye, it's some fine work from them Adrin Labs people." The owner and overseer of the armory, Shae 'Bob' MacGregor consented; "Still, bet you've seen better gear, what with how you Union-folks focus on infantry'n all."

Had the European Union finally gotten an army? If so, awesome. It was more than 'about damn time', and Thomas simply nodded with a spreading grin;

"I guess, but this is still pretty awesome." He said, tapping the chest-piece again. The helmet was next on the schedule, but came separate due to the technicalities of its operation. When Thomas got it on, the first thing he saw was a small HUD turning on, displaying things like his suit's integrity, its storage of Medigel and a currently flat bar meant to display the integrity of his shields, when activated; "Am I getting an Omnitool as well, or do we use civilian models?"

"Pff, what'd ye think this place is, kid, a merc band?" Bob scoffed as he tapped Thomas on his left arm. He had pressed an unseen – to Thomas – button, and the orange glow that followed nearly had his eyes pop from their sockets. Yeah, it was pretty much the most awesome thing ever; "The Logic Arrest's been developed to be integrated with military hardsuits, so we ship' em together for simplicity's sake. It's running on the same cells your shields'll be using, but the drain's so small, it's basically just a technicality."

"I think I'm in love."

"Hope ya mean the tool, son, 'cause I'm happily datin'." The Scotsman chuckled, most likely from how Thomas suffered a coughing fit at the implied offer. Goddamn Scots; "Anyway, this thing's got the standard military package: Overload'n Incinerate will give you an edge against mechs, drones and robots, while the Incinerate should fry just about anything from slavers te Krogan mercs. Or both, if that's more to yer tastes."

"Fuck me…"

"Told ya, not interested." Bob grinned; "It also comes with a handy welder, micro-fabricators, a flashlight, the mandatory extranet-capable computers as well as a flash-forged carbon-blade, for those close encounters." His expression hardened; "Hopefully, none of yer will ever _need_ these things, but enough colonies have already been hit unprepared by slavers for the Alliance to cut corners on this. 'Specially not on Eden Prime."

"That's understandable." Thomas nodded, feeling the atmosphere tense just a little. Still, this did open up for a question he hadn't previously known how to broach; "Does that mean Eden Prime's got anti-orbital systems as well?"

"Constant's got GARDIAN-systems, plus some SAM-turrets on the outskirts. Mindoir didn't, and look what happened to them…Shite, listen to me go off when I haven't even given you your guns yet."

"…Damn." Thomas had to take a deep inhale of air. His head felt like the room was spinning when Bob presented the first piece. The man cocked a brow in confusion when he saw Thomas' expression, and the Dane had to gather himself before he could even speak; "I'm sorry, I just...didn't get enough sleep last night. You were saying?"

"Huh…Aye, I'll start with this one." Bob gestured to the bench between them. It was a large, flat slab of metal, complete with assorted pieces of equipment meant for maintaining gear. On the middle of the bench, the Scott had put down an Assault Rifle, one Thomas didn't immediately recognize; "Seen this before?"

"I…don't think so?" he offered; "It looks like the Avenger, but…"

The weapon was of medium length, roughly the size of the M4's he'd trained with, though with a much sleeker design, and a distinct lack of a vertical grip near the barrel. The rifle was painted a gunmetal grey and black, as well as a single broad stripe of red along the upper body. The barrel visibly integrated into the main body, a different type of dark grey between the lighter tones of the top and stock.

"Close enough, actually." Bob shrugged, pulling a small bar on the gun's side; "This is a Lancer II, a predecessor to the Avenger, but with a bit less firepower. It's a reliable gun though, so you won't get the jamming-issues the later models can irritate you with. It's still in use because it's so damned _cheap_ , and extremely easy to repair, plus it's more or less unaffected by hacking-attempts, so no worries 'bout your gun blowing up'n yer face."

The Scott them opened a slide underneath the gun – that was why he'd pulled the small bar – and removed a piece of metal roughly the size and shape of a carton of cigarettes. Damn, so that was how ammunition looked these days? Thomas _did_ know about the whole 'mass effect shaving off grains', but this was the first time he'd ever seen the actual ammunition.

"Tungsten, one kilo in each rifle, meaning you'll have some five hundred shots, give or take maybe two or three, depending on how well you maintain the damn thing. The heat sink's integrated in the rifle, so you'll only have to worry about the tungsten." He slid the block back in and pulled the small bar the other way, sealing the compartment; "I know someone's arguing we should make the heat sinks reloadable too, but then we might's well just go back to bullets, if yer ask me."

As Thomas simply nodded, Bob moved to slap the gun – showing clearly how to fold it up – onto the magnetic clamps on Thomas' back. Then, the Scott pulled up the next weapon in line: a sidearm, but a _big_ one.

"That…is a big pistol. Not a Predator, I take it?"

"Aye lad, that's a Raikou Pistol. Fresh out of production, and punches dinner-plate-sized 'oles in anyone stupid or unlucky enough to be in front of them. That be, if they are unshielded. So try using it as a last stand choice, instead of ye primary firearm." He looked like someone presenting his daughter for marriage to a prince. Pistol or not, this thing weighed a lot less than the M9 pistols Thomas had worked with in Homeland Defense, and looked a lot more futuristic too.

Not surprising, given that he was _in the future_ , as if his brain needed the reminder.

" _About that…"_ the Voice started in a somewhat hesitant tone, causing Thomas to stare at a wall, pretending to study the shotgun-pieces on display. _What?_

" _It is of course important that you know about the present time, but…I would suggest you take the first opportunity to use the extranet and look up some history."_

" _I know, I missed some hundred and fifty-something years."_

" _Hundred and sixty-eight, more like it…anyway, my point is that you should familiarize yourself with the…state, of Scandinavia."_

"… _meaning?"_ Thomas frowned.

" _It would take too long to properly explain."_ The Voice brushed him off; _"We will discuss it later, when you have a proper connection and the time to do so. For now, seeing how you have been properly equipped, I believe it should be your priority to make your way to the firing-ranges."_

" _Nothing's ever simple with you, is it?"_

" _Life would be unfathomably dull were that so."_

" _Rookie, what's taking so long?"_ Ashley called in through the comms of his helmet, demonstrating that yes, they did indeed work without him having even activated them.

"Equipment took a tad longer than we expected, Williams." Bob, for some reason, answered before Thomas even had a chance; "Don't blame the lad, I was the one chatting him up with technicalities."

" _McGregor, I should have known…"_ curiously, she didn't sound the least bit angry; " _Alright, I'm guessing you're done?"_

"Yes, Chief." Thomas replied this time. He felt like a child if someone else had to do his talking, regardless of the good intentions; "I'm on my way right now."

With that, Thomas excused himself, holstered the Raikou and took off. Something he quickly realized was that the armor was heavier than he had expected, and after just a hundred meters, it was getting him winded just to jog. How by Tyr Ashley and the others could run around in these things was beyond him, meaning he was probably missing or overlooking something _extremely_ simple.

What he _did not_ overlook, however, was the sheer beauty of the surrounding landscapes. White prefabs made up the houses, and a street of dirt and gravel had taken over from simple mud, but still, it couldn't hide the natural beauty that was _Eden Prime_.

Eden Prime

Eden Prime

 _Eden Prime… nope, still gives me the chills._

Rounding the final corner of a red and white prefab – no doubt a military construction – Thomas spotted the firing range. Dog Squad was clearly under-prioritized when they had to train outside instead of in designated training-halls. Even the Homeland Defense had had those facilities, close to two-hundred years ago.

Spotting her pink and white Phoenix-armor before anyone else's, Thomas' eyes went to Ash as she directed the training. _I mean, Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams_. _Damn, its hard not just calling her Ash. Guess it's only for the time being. When we meet up with Commander Sheppard, get shanghaied to his or her insane mission and take out the geth…_

Geth.

Shit, that one was going to bite him in the ass sooner or later. He knew it, just didn't know when. It was a given, of course, that he wasn't going to take the original events lying down. Ashley had been the sole survivor of the squad, something _he_ wasn't that keen on repeating.

Thomas _liked_ the people on the squad. And even if he didn't, even if he had despised them on the cellular level, he still couldn't just let things happen. But…what _could_ he do?

He could suggest that they stocked up on disruptor-rounds, or however the Hel that actually worked. But again, those were probably pretty damn expensive, meaning Ashley would want a damned good reason to put in a requisitions order for them, and Thomas wouldn't be able to give her one more plausible than the remote possibility of an Eclipse attack. Even then, normal rounds would kill mechs just fine.

Speaking of guns and such, Ashley was looking at him, pointing towards a booth with Ünalan standing in it. _'Guess I'm supposed to go have a shot at this. Get it, "have a shot?" Ahh, who am I kidding, I'm only fun when around Death… or whoever the hell he actually is. Alright, better go see how good a shot I actually am_ …

The target was a man-shaped piece of cardboard, roughly fifty meters away. That was a long shot with nothing but iron sights to go from. Luckily, the helmet did most of the aiming for him, something Thomas realized when he unfolded the rifle, and a crosshair appeared on his HUD. It moved perfectly in sync with his gun, and Thomas couldn't help a satisfied grin. _I fucking love technology_

 _Niiiice and easy. Breathe in…. breath out… in… out…_

 _Press the trigger, nice and slow. Be ready for some kickback…_

 _ **Babababang!**_

 _Okay, that was a lot better than I thought. There's practically no recoil on this thing. Must be something to do with Eezo. Everything's got something to do with Eezo these days._

Time to take a look at what he'd actually hit. Surprisingly, the result was actually a fine spray across the legs of the cardboard figure. Well, he'd crippled the thing, so that was always something. _Okay, that just sounded wrong_ …

Never the less, it was a lot better than he'd feared. Thomas was of course, hoping for pure headshots, but what the Hel, he'd at least _hit_ the damn thing. This sort of repeated action, with switching turns and aiming at cardboard, went on for most of the day, though the rest of Dog Squad seemed to be far better shots than him.

No big surprise there, really.

As the sun started reaching its zenith, the sound of a hungry belly alerted Thomas to the fact that yes, he was actually rather hungry. Somehow, the others knew it too, and the repetitive firing slowly trickled to a complete stop. Heads turned as the Chief started walking down their ranks;

"Alright people, let's get scrubbed up for mess." Ashley called, signaling what Thomas was waiting for and what the others knew was coming. He just hoped it would be something actually edible this time. _Not much for eating glue again. I mean, seriously, we can have spaceships and laser guns, but food still sucks?! What the Hel?_

As he turned to leave as well, Thomas found Ashley's hand on his torso. Her eyes locked with his through the visor, reflecting the setting sun. Such nice brown colors. He remained standing, not sure what to say, or if to even say anything.

" _Uh… what does this mean?"_ he thought to himself, well aware that the Voice would probably take that as a directed question. He wasn't _used_ to hot women even _touching_ him, making this a less than familiar scenario.

" _Well, it could imply that she has some feelings for you, and want to, what do you call it, kiss?"_

" _Well, I certainly wouldn't… the hell; I wasn't even speaking to you. Please try keeping out of any thoughts concerning the certain female in front of me, okay?"_ Not to mention that he had known her for less than twenty-four hours. Thomas would not consider it even remotely realistic if she just… fell for him.

Donkey, for all he was a picture of probable sexism, was more likely to have that sort of luck. _More power to him, I guess…_

Thomas knew this was all likely nothing more than the effects of meeting someone like Ashley, and that Donkey, who had known her for so much longer, had all the more 'right' to her, if that was even a thing. Honestly, he'd feel a bit like a dick if he just 'took' the Chief, not that _that_ would ever happen.

Plus, she was _way_ out of his league, being a woman. That was, sadly, all it took with him. A point of immense frustration after he'd turned twenty, Thomas knew things weren't likely to change in _that_ department. He just didn't have the guts to do… _things_. Or even flirt.

"Rookie, I don't recall giving you leave just yet" Her 'officer voice' cut through his train of thoughts. He snapped to a parade-stand, awaiting command. It was all muscle-memory, really, considering how much effort the drills back home had taken to make him live, breathe and eat discipline.

It was at least _one_ trait he could use here.

"Ma'am?" he said, trying to sound as professional as he could with a beautiful woman's hand on his chest. _Fuck, stop thinking like that. It's just going to end in pain eventually. Besides, Donkey was far more likely to end up with her, in case Shepard's a woman._

"Well, while you took your sweet time in the armory, the rest of the boys had at least ten rounds each. You are to do the same, or you'll run the colony's perimeter in full armor." Her voice still had that sternness to it, but Thomas thought he could see hints of that good ol' cocky smile through her helmet.

Also, considering just how big the colony turned out to be on the tour, he would pick the targeting-practice over running any day. Not to mention that he didn't know how many of those he had left. How many the colony had left.

"Yes ma'am."

The next thirty minutes went with shooting, cooling the gun and shooting. Thomas started turning the range into a downright cardboard-massacre. After some time, he remembered the jog from the armory to the field, and how hard it was;

"Chief, I've got a question if I may?"

"You may" _Okay, guess we're still in soldier-commander mode._

"I noticed on the way to here from the armory that this suit is heavy as hell, and it's a _light_ _version_. Is there some way to make the armor relieve some of that burden, or is the answer just a "get in better shape" kind of answer?"

"Yes." She stated, momentarily confounding the shit out of him; "Your armor's packed with servos in the joints, as well as along the back, right here where the blue lights are." She turned around and pointed at her own back, but as her hand was coming from the top, pointing down, Thomas couldn't help but follow that line down to her nice a- _Brain, you fucking perv!_ Not _going there, spank you very- Fuck!_

"Yes ma'am. And the other half of the answer?" he asked courtly, keeping the professional tone as best he could.

"Well, that's just a matter of getting in a better shape, get used to the weight of that armor, and one day you'll be able to do acrobatics with it on" she gave him an encouraging smile. _Dammit, it's almost like she reads my thoughts, and was toying with me. But oh no, I won't beaten by a horny brain. Oh no sire._

"I guess… so, food?" he asked, rolling his shoulders in the hardsuit. It was still kinda neat how it felt like wearing medieval armor, just high-tech. It even had pauldrons of reinforced plating.

"Right, so pack up your gear, unload your rifle, disassemble it and proceed to the mess." She said, then turned, leaving Thomas to his work. _Great, so I'm stuck here again, fiddling with a futuristic weapon._

It wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't forgotten completely _how_ to disassemble it – mainly due to Ashley's form-fitting armor having distracted him – but in the end, he started getting it.

* * *

Ashley stopped walking when she had reached a good distance, the leaned against one of the prefabs as she observed the Rookie trying to work on his own.

It was a test of hers, one she did with every recruit, as a sort of trial to see if they could work by themselves. She had already given Fisher's medical record a read, and had come across a few interesting points. Most surprising was the fact that he was vaccinated against smallpox, a disease that had been wiped out more than fifty years back.

Odd, but not thát unusual. There were still plenty of people paranoid about diseases on Earth, especially in the Arcologies.

Also, the name 'Vestergaard Fisher' sounded eerily familiar, like she had heard it over and over at some point, yet she simply couldn't figure out when or in what context. Maybe, he had family in the Alliance higher ups? Grandfather had spent so many nights cursing the Alliance Leadership, she wouldn't write off the chance that he'd listed someone by that name…

Still then, why join a garrison if he had family up there?

For now, she set those thoughts aside as she kept her eyes on him. The recruit looked rather annoyed with the concept of having been ordered to disassemble his weapon. Although, he did make some progress. She wasn't close enough to hear him, but she could see that he was speaking. Simulated conversation maybe? She'd heard that could help stimulate some people's thought-processes.

"Alright Rookie, let's see what you're going to do…" She muttered to herself, keeping her eyes on the private.

"Pulling him through the test, are we?" A heavily accented voice came from next to her, causing the Chief to snap around with a fist curled but at the hip. She relaxed even as she recognized the voice of corporal Nadang, the South African soldier. He was leaned against the wall of the prefab, just next to her, looking at the recruit with the same eyes as her. Only, his held a slight measure of amusement; "You know, that's just not very nice."

"Corporal, sneaking up on your superior is hardly forgivable..." She grumbled, but her words didn't carry any actual threat. Rather, it was annoyance that she had been caught unaware, and in a highly unorthodox position. Unregulated too, if she had to be honest with herself.

Dammit.

"Sorry Ma'am, wasn't aware I was sneaking." He said, not taking his eyes off the recruit as said soldier unloaded the rifle, having found the bar that let the ammo-block slide free from the gun itself.

"So, how come you haven't joined the others in the mess, Corporal?" She asked after a few minutes of watching Fisher unsuccessfully fiddle with the mechanisms before finally managing to free the barrel from the main part of the weapon, placing it on the workbench next to the shooting range.

"Though I'd see how our newest member was doing on his own. Besides, it's Thursday." He said, as if that explained it all. Which, to Ashley, it did.

"Ah, 'Leftovers-day'" She noted, getting a nod from him. It was common knowledge that even the hardened veterans bailed out on 'Leftovers day' when they could, seeing as cold, reused oatmeal or stiff, cold scrambled eggs that had been reheated and added grown sausages of questionable quality, was less than ideal for consumption.

She still hadn't tracked down whomever had designed the meal-plans. But oh, she would get them, some day. And then there would be Hell to pay. Or Hel, depending on where they'd be from.

"Well, you know the saying ma'am, every meal is a banquet, every paycheck a fortune." He replied with a shrug, watching as Fisher started looking around for a case to put the now fully disassembled weapon in. Thát was the trick, seeing as there was no container or case. It took most people a while to simply say 'fuck it' and reassemble the weapon. Which was, in all its brilliance, the goal of the test.

"We're not the USMC, Nadang… can the props. Now, observe how the innocent creature known as the Rookie struggles to figure out…" she said, turning from Nadang and back to looking at the recruit. Fisher had, contrary to her idea, already started reassembling the gun. Dammit, had he even _looked_ for a container?

"Private, what are you doing?" She called out, deciding to break off the test, seeing as he had sort of circumvented the idea. The recruit almost jumped on the spot, though he pulled himself together, frowning at the way he could clearly see Nadang cracking a smile at the Chief's annoyance.

* * *

"Private, what are you doing?" Ashley suddenly barked, appearing just beyond the corner of a house and… what the flying pancake was Bolin laughing at? Thomas was torn between being horrified at Ashley's temper, and being pissed at the corporal.

In the end, he opted for the former.

"Ehm… I'm… putting the gun back together, Chief." he said, feeling like a complete moron. He knew he'd fuck something up before the day was out, and here was the proof. Not sure _what_ he'd fucked up, but with the annoyance clear on Ashley's face, Thomas must have broken something. _Also, since when did she get back from the mess so fast?_

"Why are you putting it back together when I told you to take it apart?" She demanded, pointing at the halfway assembled rifle on the workbench. Well, there wasn't anywhere he could put the damn thing now, was there? The only logical way he would have been able to transport it would have been to put it back together.

"Well… I couldn't find a place to put the parts, so I thought I should just put it back together. I was wrong, right?" he muttered, not quite having the balls to spell out his line of thought. It was also really strange, but this reminded him of a practice the drill sergeants used to pull on them if they were all sleepy or didn't pay well enough attention:

Pick the gun apart and put it back together. Repeat and repeat and repeat… Gods was it dull at times. Still, the principles were the same, so this was a little easier than he'd thought. Thank Thor for muscle-memorization.

"I… well, no. But…" Ashley actually seemed lost for words now. He wasn't aware that she was mentally cursing over him looking like a kicked puppy; "Dammit… I haven't had people figure it out this fast before"

"Before?" he asked, now completely out of the loop. _Figure out what, exactly?_

"Never mind. Just finish up and get something to eat. Nadang, show him where to store his rifle." She said, gesturing for the corporal to stop cracking up and go help the private. Thomas stared, blinking as he tried processing the scene. In the end though, he put the gun back together, folded it up and followed the others to the mess.

And he still had no idea just what he'd done.

* * *

August 4th

Eden Prime, Constant

Garrison barracks

19:22

The days started becoming something of a fixated point of reference, with each day being the same as the former. After we get up, we dress then go eat breakfast. Usually, that breakfast consisted of what passed for oatmeal. Thomas was not doubting that it was healthy, and it sure did fill the stomach, but by Frey, it tasted like someone shat in a pot and cooked it!

After breakfast, or nightfast, he supposed it could be called – Constant was on a part of Eden Prime where the mornings were pitch-black –, the squad would train at the shooting range where they practiced with a wide assortment of weapons, including Assault Rifles, AR Carbines, Shotguns, pistols and long-distance firing.

This would keep up for around eight solid hours until lunch, which was at the time of Eden Prime midday, meaning around 14:30. After that, there would be either team-building exercises or trekking in the hills.

Thomas had to admit, even if there was a very real risk of Saren vaporizing the place… _Eden Prime is fucking beautiful. I mean, it's like… paradise without all the animals, I guess._

So far the only animals he had seen were birds, cattle, dogs and a really weird native species called a 'gas-bag'.

While trekking _was_ gorgeous, it did have its downs.

Especially because the trekking consisted of a near-constant run while wearing full equipment and gear. If there was always one thing Thomas hated about Homeland Defense, it was the running. And Gods, they were running a lot here

At least he'd gotten the hang of using his servos to do most of the work for him, which was nice.

The trekking lasted hours – _hours_ – where they were running around the hills. Ashley and Donkey leading the way.

Donkey… Damn Thomas felt bad for him. At first he was wondering why they called him 'Donkey', but when he looked at the guy's nameplate… 'Wallace Dorati Donk' did seem like something he would have invented a new name to cover too.

Thomas wondered if Donkey's parents hated him that much?

Still, the squad was actually starting to almost feel familiar to him now, having spent three days here awake.

There was Ashley Williams, of course, the official commanding officer with her rank being Gunnery Chief.

Then there was Donkey, the sergeant and second in command.

Bates was another soldier Thomas didn't meet until the day before, when the squad met up at the bar.

The bar… again, poor Donkey. Probably like himself, Thomas wasn't sure yet, he had the hots on for Ashley. And really, who wouldn't? But… to see his attempt at sweet-talking her over the drinks, only to have her say that she would prefer Pennyloafer over him? That made me feel sorry for the poor sod. Still, Bates commented that he wouldn't mind seeing some quote 'Hot girl on girl' action, end quote. He struck Thomas as a bit of a simple character, a stereotype to their gender, but basically an okay guy.

Hillary M. Pennyloafer was the second woman on the squad, easing some of the female burden from Ashley, he'd bet. She seemed like she was the same age as Ashley, but often thought like an older woman, and sometimes like a teenager. It was really, _really_ funny having her around actually, plus the first time Thomas saw her, he thought she was a boy. The main reason was that she…well, she did not really have much of a defining chest to speak of.

Something he, luckily, had not had the chance to mention.

Then, of course there was Bolin Nadang and Jim Norroty. Both were cool guys, whom Thomas suspected of having joined up at the same time. Mainly because they both had the same accents, and Jim being just dark enough that his family could be from Africa as well. Bolin seemed to be more of an easy-come easy-go kinda person, while 'Jimmy' was a lot more serious and struggled to do everything better than the rest of them.

A career-soldier in the making. Thomas had seen that before, with people back home. One of his best friends had set his sights on a career in the navy, even went as far as to becoming an officer. A scowl found its way to his face when he realized this. Nikolai had been one of his very few close friends for almost ten years.

Now, he was just another face he would never see again.

"So… Sergeant. How did your persuasion attempt with Ashley go?" Hillary asked, cracking a smile in the process.

Some of the other main reasons Thomas had thought she was a guy was because she has short blond hair and a quite muscular frame. Hel, her face was pretty damn boyish too, giving her a… 'charmingly gruff' female appearance, once you knew she was a woman.

Of course, she _knew_ how it went, seeing as she and Ashley ended up fake-making out – though to Thomas it looked very much real, why were women allowed to do that kind of thing with no questions asked while men couldn't? – just to send Donkey over the top, with Hillary sitting on Ashley's lap, both looking at the sergeant with puppy-eyes, swapping saliva while making soft moans. Even though Thomas might have had a crush on Ashley, watching her play around like that was simply priceless and hilarious, not to mention erection-inducing. Honestly, he had _not_ seen that part of her coming.

"Shut it Private." The sergeant muttered, hitting the light switch. Or, palming it really, seeing as it was one of those haptic interface-things where you would just touch it. Still, the red glow was rather annoying in the darkness, even if it was dying out after a few seconds. The only light remaining was Norroty reading something on his Omnitool. Ashamed as he was to say it, Thomas hadn't yet gotten down to the history-lesson the Voice wanted him to read.

He more or less understood how the tool itself worked, though he'd be buggered if a haptic interface wasn't the most annoying thing in the world. Either you'd need gloves for it, or – and this pissed him off more than just a little – you would need small chips in your fingertips, something the clinic had seen fit to slip in while he was under.

They could stick their Hippocratic Oath up where even Mimir couldn't see it.

"Aye sir." She laughed back, the sound of her back hitting the bunk following her voice. After a while, Norroty shut off his Omnitool, leaving the newcomer in the complete darkness. This was the part Thomas hated…

These people… they were great people, _good_ people, and honestly it was tearing Thomas apart with guilt, knowing that he couldn't save them.

Or he could try, which would result in them just laughing at him… ignoring what he said right up until Saren would come in, guns blazing with his big ship. And if they all survived that somehow… they would ask just how the fuck he'd known.

There really was no way of getting around this, was there?

 _Fuck me… why did I have to end up here of all places? Why did I have to get to know a bunch of people who just get to die anyway because Hudson and BioWare decided on it?_

And Thomas didn't even know when the shit would hit the fan, which was really what bothered him the most. The dig site had been open for almost a week now, with some people from the Citadel bound to arrive soon to look at the beacon. And… Saren would probably arrive at some point before or after that… _Fuuuuuuuuck….why can't this be simple?_

" _Maybe because simple would require that you shared all your knowledge of the coming events with everyone, which in turn could mess with the timeline, or 'canon' as you put it, rendering your knowledge useless."_

" _Thanks for the pep-talk…"_ Thomas muttered, turning over under the blanket. Underneath the covers, he brought out the datapad he'd been putting off reading. Now was as good a time as any, really.

It wasn't like he was going to get any sleep tonight anyway…

* * *

Codex Entry: Second Kalmar Union

 _Following the Scandinavian Revolutions in 1810, representatives from each country's revolutionary governments – Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Iceland and Finland – met in Stockholm to discuss a treaty between the nations. The result was the Unification Treaty of Kalmar, which became the founding document of the Second Kalmar Union._

 _In 1864, Prussian Chancellor Otto von Bismarck embarked on a war of conquest over the dispute between the Kalmar Union member, Denmark, and the states of Schleswig-Holstein._

 _While the Danish soldiers were relatively quickly overwhelmed at the old walls of Danevirke, the Prussian invasion was stopped short in its tracks at the siege of Dybøl, when armored warships arrived from Oslo, carrying Union troops and artillery, as well as Samish mercenaries._

 _The Prussian soldiers, previously in a superior shelling-position, were now caught between the Danish defenders, and the landing reinforcements coming up from the southern fjord. The battle turned into a bloodbath, with neither side achieving true victory, though the Prussian soldiers were eventually forced to retreat to a more defensible position, allowing the defenders a pyrrhic victory, if nothing else._

 _The war concluded with the signing of a ceasefire, granting Denmark the state of Schleswig, while Holstein remained neutral as a future buffer between the great nations. This war, while hurtful to the relations between later Germany and Scandinavia, served to bring the Kalmar Union closer together, finally cementing the alliance as military as well as political in name as well as deed._

 _Later on, Scandinavia remained pointedly neutral during the First World War, despite both sides heavily arguing their case to the northern union. As such, the Kalmar Union prospered from trading with both sides of the conflict, as well as Schleswig functioning as a statewide sanctuary for displaced populations, as well as a neutral treatment-site for both sides._

 _The Second World War forced the Union into action when Russian soldiers invaded Finland in 1939, and the Kalmar Union entered the war on the side of the Allies. Though Finland eventually fell to the Soviet Union in 1940, Swedish and Danish warships harassed the soviet supply-ships crossing the Baltic Sea, forcing Stalin to send his supply routes across the Siberian, then the Finnish steppes and forests, the latter providing amble opportunity for Finnish partisans to ambush them._

 _When Russia was attacked by Germany, and as a result thereof sided with the Allies, Scandinavia pulled out of the war, refusing to fight side by side with the soldiers currently occupying the lands of its member nation, Finland. The war was eventually won by the Allies, though historians have argued that the casualties could have been much diminished had the Union not pulled out._

 _During the Cold War, the Kalmar Union managed a tense relationship with the USSR, refusing to acknowledge Soviet ownership of eastern Finland, though lacking the capacity to retake the lost territory. When the North Atlantic Treaty Organization was formed as a counter to the Warsaw-pact, the Kalmar Union joined as a single entity, determined to remain unified._

 _In 2016, at the outbreak of the Third World War, Scandinavia fought with Nato against Russian forces in Northern Europe, primarily focusing their military capacities in the Baltic Sea, Finland's border with Russia, and the North Atlantic._

 _At the end of the War, approximately two million Union troops had been killed in action, and five million civilians had been killed by the fighting, primarily in Finland where Russian Bear-Bombers had carpet-bombed the capital, or in sea-side towns and harbors targeted by Russian missile cruisers._

 _As a result of the War, Finland regained the entirety of its old territory from Russia, and the Kalmar Union remained a unified superpower, capable of impacting international politics with respect and willpower alone. Members of the European Union, which the Kalmar Union remains a partner if not key-member of, have often voiced criticism of the Unions overtly militarized societies, maintaining compulsory military service for all eligible men and women within its borders._

 _At the turn of the next century, the Kalmar Union had grown to include Kaliningrad and Estonia. The Baltic states became the first Christian countries to join the previously pure-Asatru Union. In 2131, pro-Russian separatism flourished in Eastern Europe, clandestinely funded and supported by Russian President Joseph Igor Malevich._

 _Despite the evidence of Russian involvement, the European Union was facing a decline in economic capability, and as such depended too much on Russian energy to punish what was in simplicity foreign state-sponsored anarchy. The Kalmar Union levied heavy sanctions on Russia when Kaliningrad experienced similar uprisings, but due to official denial of involvement, the Union was unable to declare a state of war without breaking international law._

 _As a counter-measure to destabilization of a member-state, Union troops were sent to combat the insurrectionism in Kaliningrad, and shortly thereafter were engaged by 'self-defense troops' from the separatist-controlled parts of the small nation. When Russia threatened with a full-scale intervention in the Baltic state, the Kalmar Union was forced to retract its peace-keeping forces, and Kaliningrad eventually left the Union before dissolving into city-states ruled by pro-Russian officials._

 _Relations between the Union and Russia progressively deteriorated to the point where the 'cold' war between the two factions seemed ready to go hot. The only reason this never happened, was the discovery of alien ruins on Mars, which led to the formation of the Human Systems Alliance. When the first human-settled world of Shanxi was attacked by the Turian Hierarchy in 2154, the Kalmar Union joined the Alliance, putting aside old grudges with Russia in the face of extraterrestrial threats._

 _It remains a significant powerbase to this day, and maintains military bases on several colonies in the inner systems. Union Army Trainers are highly sought after for their expertise in guerrilla-style winter warfare._

 _One of the Alliance's two Battleship-class warships were designed by the Union Naval Ministry, and has been dubbed the Níðhöggr (read Nidhogg) from the dragon of the Norse underworld. As a main participant of the EFEC and lacking in substantial spaceports, the Scandinavia does not supply the Alliance with actual warships, though the majority of the navy's medicinal equipment originates from Sweden._

* * *

 _A/N_

So, as you can see, I am taking some extreme liberties with world history.

I regret nothing!


	3. RP

**A/N:**

 **Third rewritten chapter. I basically took and redid the entire attack on Eden Prime, made it longer and added more action and depth.**

 **Also reworked the Codex entry, adding a bit of explanation and foreshadowing.**

* * *

 **Ragnarok Prime**

* * *

August 5th

Eden Prime, Constant

Foothills.

18:42

"Chief, we might have a problem…" Donkey said, removing his fingers form his ear. _Fuck, what now? We've been out here on patrol for the last five hours, and I had no idea what's going on anymore._

There always was the worst-case scenario, but he'd really rather not think about it, painting the Jotunn on the wall. Next to where Donkey was standing, Jim was crouched on the ground, a sniper-rifle in hand while surveying the surrounding landscape. Thomas' eyes lingered on the weapon, then went to the rifle in his own hands. He realized he'd been clutching it hard enough to made indentions in the hard-gel grip. _Shit, keep it together. Keep it together, it might not be anything…or it might be…Shit!_

"What _now_?" Ashley groaned, sounding both annoyed as well as tired. Ashley was evidently frustrated… _Ashley_ was _frustrated_ , meaning shit had started to hit the fan. Fuck.

Fuck.

"I can't raise neither Saber nor Bravo Squad. My line's getting all sorts of shitty interference and my radar's constantly bugging out." He said, the muscular soldier actually sounding worried.

And, when the veteran was nervous, Thomas was twice so. Hoping for something, he activated his own HUD, only to have static obscure his radar. The only reason he could hear Donkey was because the helmet was open for now, allowing for direct hearing. The radio? Fucked, and he could only fear as to why…

"Dammit… can you raise the colony?" Ashley asked, removing her own hand from her helmet, no doubt having just attempted the same thing. Donkey tapped his helmet again, and silence reigns for a moment before he took it back down, shaking his head.

"Nothing… just static." He said, causing Thomas' blood to start freezing in his veins.

"Fuck… okay people, we know Bravo's last known site. We head there, see if they know what has happened. If we somehow fail to find them… we double-time it to the colony. Clear?" Ashley barked out, snapping Thomas from his stupor. Okay, to _Hel_ with whatever BioWare planned. _Everyone_ was going to make it through this and to Hel with canon too!

"Roger!" they all affirmed, readying weapons. Only Jim had his out already, being their sentry for the time they'd spent resting. The LAR-Lancer-II had become a weapon Thomas could almost say he knew by now.

It wasn't nearly as precise as the "antique" M4's he'd trained with back home, but it packed more of a punch, could potentially burst-fire until the block of tungsten was spent, and weighed just about half. All in all, it deserved the Light Assault Rifle term more than the M4 ever did.

The squad started its trek back, running over and across the hills and shallow rivers as they raced towards where Bravo Squad was last heard from. _Heh, it would be awkward if they were looking for us too, now running to where_ they _were last heard from. Still, with my luck, I somehow doubt…_

"Hold up." Donkey ordered, beating Ashley to it as he held up his fist, going into a kneeling crouch. The rest of them follow him into it, kneeling in the grass with their weapons pointed in all directions. Thomas' finger danced over the trigger, ready to slam slugs into whatever enemy should appear. Even should it be a geth.

But he begged the skies that he wouldn't have to.

"Bravo Squad, do you read? Bravo Squad, can you hear me?" Donkey whispered in a stressed tone, keeping his head down from whatever was beyond the ridge. As no answers came, Thomas clutched his rifle tighter, feeling the anxiety well up inside. Thomas' entire body was screaming for him to run, to panic, to fight, to be angry, to be nervous… adrenaline was a weird drug, sure enough.

"Alright, hold positions. Fisher, you're up. Sneak up and check Bravo's position. Don't. Do. Something stupid." He pressed the last words out like he was afraid Thomas was _going_ to do something stupid. He probably was, at some point, so it was potentially justified. Nodding, the private snuck forward in a low crouch, going prone as he reached the edge of the ridge.

A thin trail of smoke could be seen coming up from the bottom of the valley below, signaling the location of a campfire. There was a smell in the air, one Thomas didn't recognize as burning wood.

He crawled to the edge of the ridge, dragging his armored body across the grass, then poked his head over the edge. What he saw… how had he not realized that the smell was actually charred flesh?

" _Vanir_ …" He groaned, looking at the gruesome display below him. Just a dozen meters down the hill, what remained of Bravo Squad was scattered all over the place, with charred chunks of flesh and metal having been strewn with a generous hand, dried blood drenching the grass. Among the pieces of human death, a mere two broken metal figures lay, rifles still clutched in their metallic hands.

Geth…

 _FUCK!_

"FUCK! Fuck, _fuck_ , fuck, _fuck_ , fuck, _fuuuuuck_!" he fell more than slid back down the ridge on their side, tumbling the last piece of way until he ended up back with the group, cold-sweating and trembling. His heart was beating so hard, he could feel it through the armor. _Oh, that's just my hands…go fucking figure._

"What, what is it?" Ashley demanded, grapping his shoulders even as he was trying to breathe. Any other situation, he'd have been glad to have her hands on him, but right now, he needed to breathe.

And scream. Scream, really much.

The image of destroyed humanity was burned into his mind, visions of fleshy chunks boiled by plasma. Like meat on a grill. Corpses with expressions twisted in agony as dead hands clutched at cooked intestines spilling into the grass.

"They- They- they're- they-re they- They're _dead_!" he finally managed to cram down enough air to finish the sentence, with Ashley letting go of his shoulders in favor of sprinting up the hill herself.

" _Dead_? The _fuck_ you mean 'dead'?" Jim hissed, his face a shade paler than usual. Thomas snapped his head towards him;

"I mean _'DEAD'_! As in _fucking_ blown to bits and spread like _fucking_ fertilizer! Boiled, dead, burned, shot, _ceased to live_ , bought the fucking farm! Does that fit your _fucking_ _definition_ _of_ _'dead'_?" Thomas ended up shouting, the adrenaline needing an outlet. Instead of answering him, Jim ran after Ashley himself, wanting to see what Thomas talking about. Thomas himself needed air – he needed to get this helmet off!

He hadn't even gotten it completely off before the first wave of sickness washed over him, forcing his body into mounting convulsions as he lost his dubious field-rations to the grass. Donkey, remaining remarkably calm, knelt next to the vomiting Dane, handing him his canteen of water.

"I'm _fine_ … I'm… just… _Fuck_ …" Thomas groaned with teary eyes, shaking his head while dismissing the bottle. He had his own, and the sergeant didn't need water tasting like puke. Thomas grabbed for his own bottle, unscrewing the cab before draining a good bit of the contents, gurgling and washing his mouth before spitting it back out.

"…First time seeing dead people?" Donkey asked, his tone calm and collected. _Gods, why's the world spinning like this?_

Thomas had seen dead things before, the news showed dead people all the time. What by Hel was wrong with him now? Still, he merely nodded, feeling as if his body was going to lose more contents. Seeing as it wasn't, he put the helmet back on, ignoring the mounting headache.

"Head spinning?" Donkey asked. Thomas nodded again, just giving a murmured agreement.

"Normal for first timers. Let the hardsuit administer some serum, should take the edge off." He really did sound like he had been through this before. His voice made Thomas… want to do just what he was saying, so he waited. After a few moments, a serene feeling flooded his systems and his vision and head cleared up, enabling him to get to his feet in time for Ashley and the others to return.

"Down to the site people, double-time. We find out just what the hell happened, then we haul ass back to the colony. First opportunity we get, raise the garrison and put them on full alert!" Ashley barked, gesturing with a pair of fingers at the place where people were dead. Dead, in chunks… _charred pieces of flesh, smoking… smelling… barbequed… stinking_ …Thomas felt like retching again.

He didn't let go of his gun the entire time they spent getting down there, nor when they checked the dead for ID's. Even when they stood, confused and horrified, staring at the scrapped platforms, Thomas kept a finger on the trigger, ready to fight for his life.

"Fucking… the hell do you think these things are?" Bates asked, kicking the ruined chassis of the geth trooper.

"Geth…" Thomas whispered in abject horror, not giving a fuck if it was supposed to be a secret. The others snapped to look at him, some with fright, a few – Ashley and Hillary – with agreement and dread dawning in their eyes.

"The fuck? _Geth_? You mean those tin-cans the Quarians made?!" Jim demanded, looking between Thomas and the ruined platforms. The closest was painted a stark white, still clutching an alien rifle in the arm still stuck to its chassis. Judging from the marks at the torn shoulder, a shotgun had taken off the other appendix. A combat knife was still stuck in the synthetic muscles of rifle-toting arm, looking like it had done little to no real harm.

"Look at it Jim! Don't you think this fits the description 'those tin-can'?" Hillary bit out, pointing a jagged finger at the dead geth. Thomas didn't even consider mentioning that the 'geth' had probably just left the scrapped platform. _They_ were fine, as opposed to the men and women they had slaughtered.

At that moment, Thomas grew an indiscriminate hatred for the Geth.

"Fuuuuuuuuck… so, the geth are attacking us. Why?" The sniper asked, looking between the rest of the squad. No one could answer that but Thomas, who had nowhere near the peace of mind to remember that at the moment. His mind was fuzzy and spinning in spite of the serum, and thoughts beyond ' _Survive_!' were disjointed and unimportant.

"Where's that 'brilliant' Spectre now we need him?" Bolin growls, causing Thomas' heart to skip a beat. Spectre? What Spectre?

"Wait, _what Spectre?"_ Thomas asked, hoping beyond any logical measure of hope that it wouldn't be who he _knew_ it was.

"Saren Arterius. Turian who arrived here around the same time you did. He's really not the most social type, but should be good to have if the geth are attacking us." Bolin said, shrugging as he pulled the knife from the synthetic weave of the Geth's arm, looking at it. The knife was drenched in white coolant, with strands of synthetic muscle hanging onto it.

"…Saren… Arterius?" Thomas repeated, his mind briefly numbed. _Fuck… fuck! He's been here more than a week already?_ _WHY didn't I know?!_

" _I believe the saying is 'you never aske-"_

" _SHUT UP!"_

"Yeah… Okay, geth-attack confirmed. Reason unknown, but to fuck with it. Chief, what do we do now?" Donkey asked, getting to his feet. The rest followed suit, not one finger leaving its trigger. Hillary had slapped her shotgun back onto her hip, instead opting for the menacing HAR-Revenant. Thomas just nodded at the sight.

It…made sense, to do that.

"We haul ass back to the colony. Be. Careful. The geth are _machines_ , they don't _feel_ , they don't _breathe_ , they don't _eat_ , they don't _sleep_. They can wage total war on us and not give a fuck that we kill scores of them in return. Let's move out." Ashley ordered, sending them back to the colony.

Thomas was close to getting a stroke from all of this, and they haven't even been shoot at yet. He did his best to focus on the sound of his armor's servos as he moved, _not_ the sound of distant gunfire.

"Hold up." Donkey stopped them upon reaching the tree line of a forest close to the colony. Mostly pine, and foliage Thomas had never seen on Earth. The squad halted, kneeling in a half-circle with Hillary guarding the rear. The Sergeant took a step towards the trees, keeping his rifle ready and leveled at the darkness within; "Stella!"

"…Texaco!" came the reply moments later. It was human, and the words meant they were military. Thomas thanked the gods for that, as the bushes came alive, revealing Saber-squad, or what was left of them; "Shiva's balls! Sergeant Donkey, Chief Williams, what the _shit_ is going on?!"

The woman who came out on point was short-cropped, dark-skinned and had a red spot in the middle of her forehead, marking her as a Hindu, of all things. It was so unexpected that Thomas forgot to be scared shitless for almost a full second.

"Serviceman Bhatia," Ashley stepped forward, lowering her own gun; "Where's Sergeant Dunham?"

Serviceman Bhatia, who was clearly of Indian origin, was clad in much the same armor as Dog-Squad, but wearing a holographic visor instead of a helmet. Her armor was scorched and checkered in multiple places, as was the rest of her group, amounting to no more than three soldiers, herself included. The woman grimaced, and the two men behind her showed similar expressions of anger and shock.

"Dead." She ground out, clenching a fist; "So are Simonns and Fyodor. Ma'am, _what_ is going on?"

"We're under attack by what we believe to be Geth forces." Ashley looked towards the horizon, where Constant rose slightly above the plains, cutting into the view of a setting sun. Smoke was already rising from multiple places, and screams could be vaguely heard in the distance. Thomas shuffled his feet, hating every second they just _stood here_ while innocent people died; "Saber-Squad, you're with us. We head for the colony, join the garrison and alert the Alliance. The 6th flotilla should be stationed at the next Relay."

"Lead the way, Chief Williams." Bhatia replied, readying her weapon. The men with her did the same, and like that, seven became ten.

When Ashley took the lead, and she did so promptly and without hesitation, Thomas felt just a spark of renewed hope. Hope that they might succeed, now that more had joined. Rationally, however, he knew ten soldiers wouldn't stand a chance against an army of geth.

It was a thought he did not like to entertain.

The hellscape of Eden Prime, a scenery that had been both blissful and serene only hours earlier, now felt oppressive and hostile. Thomas felt his legs starting to burn as the group made its way through the hills, heading for the fields of Constant, the easiest and most direct way of getting into the colony.

A malicious presence seemed to hang in the air, threatening them all with a violent and generally unpleasant demise. The hairs stood on his neck, and his fingertips felt numb with the adrenaline flushing his systems.

"Chief, what do we do when we encounter more of them?" he found himself asking the dumbest question possible, and he didn't know why. He knew perfectly well what to do when facing a geth: 'kill it till it dies' was a proven tactic, but he felt so far out of his depth that his mind craved confirmation.

"Shoot it in the head." Ashley's voice was cold and heated at the same time, sending uncomfortable shivers down his spine; "and if they've got shields, shoot those first, _then_ shoot it in the head."

"Hey, wait!" Bolin called, skidding to a stop in the middle of the formation. As a result, Norroty crashed into him, barely managing to remain standing, while Ashley and Donkey both turned a glare at the corporal; "Listen."

The glares dissipated when his words were followed, and Thomas felt his legs go numb with fear at _two_ realizations.

One; the screams and gunfire from Constant had ceased. He was nowhere near stupid enough to think that meant the garrison had fought and won over the Geth. He _knew_ what had transported the Geth to Eden Prime, and he knew who was leading them.

"God have mercy on their souls." Ashley whispered.

Two; a cessation of noise from Constant meant the Geth had run out of targets. And the way he had worded that thought almost made Thomas vomit in a mixture of fear and disgust. Constant had _thousands_ of people living in it; women, children, people who had never even considered holding a gun. _Gods be good, what am I_ doing _here?!_

" _The grim reality unfolds, as Nazara casts her web."_ He was not even registering the words from the entity in his head. So numbed by shock was he, that Thomas failed to realize someone was trying to get his attention. Then he was knocked on the helmet, and snapped from his stupor.

"Hey, hold it together." It was Donkey, leaning back out from a close-up. Thomas blinked, swallowing a lump before nodding. The sergeant nodded in turn, then looked around; "This isn't a good place to be."

Thomas fingered the trigger on his Lancer, following Donkey's gaze. They were standing in the beginning of Constant's wheat-fields, with a sheer cliff-face to the west, as well as a shallow pond, while the east was dominated by vast plains. North was behind them, and due south was Constant, plumes and billows of smoke rising from the city.

"Ma'am, we should keep-" Thomas had not yet had the chance to find out the names of the two men following Bhatia. Now, he wouldn't get that chance with one of them.

"AMBUSH!" Hillary screamed as the man, now a sack of meat with a hole for a head, sagged to the ground. Something had just _hissed_ through the air, and the man's head had just…vanished. No bang, no kinetic impact, just… _hiss_.

"TAKE COVER!" Donkey roared. Thomas was sent staggering when the man's voice suddenly came through his comms, not just open air; "Return fire at will!"

"CHIEF!" He yelled, scrambling to get to whatever cover was available, which was none whatsoever. The field was flat, offering nothing but wheat to duck behind; "The jamming-"

"I KNOW!" she yelled back, firing off bursts with her own Lancer, directing the fire at where Geth platforms were now coming out of the woods, as well as the colony itself; "Fisher! Get a distress signal out!"

"HOW THE _FUCK_ DO I DO THAT?!"

"FOR FUCK'S- ÜNALAN!" Thomas did not feel slighted in the least that Ashley didn't have the patience to guide him through it. Neither had he himself, when it came down to it.

"I'm on it!" the Turk called back, somewhere Thomas couldn't immediately spot him. The angry wail of his HUD, declaring that something had just grazed his shields down to ten percent, got his attention back to the situation.

Something Ashley had taught him over the days, and which contradicted what the Homeland Defense had taught him, was that when in a firefight, _keep moving_. People who knelt down to aim were easier to hit than the ones moving around. So he did, and took a wide sidestep with each burst he fired off. _Don't spray and pray! Don't spray and pray! Don't spray and pray! Don't spray and pray!_

Keeping his shots to bursts was the only thing keeping his gun from overheating. As he shot, he walked. And as he walked, Thomas' right foot stubbed something, and he fell from surprise and poor coordination. _Son of a- I'm dead!_

Panic took over before he even realized what he had tripped over. Thomas made a mad dash across the clearing, feeling the ground burst into flames behind him. A mechanical hiss was all the warning he received before the ground _exploded_ in front of him, and his momentum was instead reversed, as the missile threw him backwards, landing him hard on the cold ground.

The air was knocked from his lungs, and for a moment, just one blissful moment, he thought maybe he should be playing dead, letting the machines walk past him. He was _just one man_ , just a human being. What the Hel could he do against this kind of enemy?

"Come on! Get up or you're _dead_!" someone grabbed him by the forearm, and Thomas found himself hauled to his feet by hands strong enough to make his arm scream in protest. Donkey let him go when he stood, by some miracle avoiding death; "Get on your fucking feet, Private, and return fire!"

This was all his fault. Everything was _his_ fault, and just because he hadn't told them to get disrupter-rounds. Now everyone would die.

" _You already died once, the notion shouldn't scare you so much a second time."_

Thomas didn't agree. But he still got some sort of kick from his armor's injectors, and found himself resuming firing at the Geth.

Some of them had been taken down, actually. The sight somehow made him feel better, as if it was a confirmation that they could actually be killed. And yet, every shot _he_ fired simply seemed to splash off against kinetic shielding, while whatever the Geth were firing had _no_ problems whatsoever at going straight through _their_ shields.

This time, he kept shooting at one Geth until his rifle overheated, then pulled the pistol out and started shooting _that_ at the platform. His aim was horrible though, and the rifle weighed him down too much for him to have any hope of actually hitting. Then his rifle came back on, and the Raikou was holstered as the Lancer came back up.

Something blue whizzed past his head, draining his recovering shields back down to fifteen percent with a mere _graze_ , and he returned fire, more out of fright and instinct than because he actually knew what he was doing. The Geth, much to both his and its own evident surprise, lost its shields after almost ten seconds of sustained firing, and every following slug tore its body to scrap.

"Move towards the colony!" someone shouted. Thomas was unable to recognize the voice, something he idly knew was because of the adrenaline in his system, and his nerves going mental. He'd just killed a Geth.

Only when someone smacked him on the helmet did he actually start running as well, with blue projectiles dogging his every step. For reasons he didn't understand, but nonetheless hated, the mechanical constructs seemed to focus on _him_.

" _INCOMING_!" Donkey shouted, rolling into cover with the rest of them following him.

Even as Thomas was diving behind a truck, his HUD started screaming again, alerting him to the fact that his shields were almost down to half after only a second of fresh exposure. Just what the Hel were the Geth shooting at them? The Geth were never this strong… fuck it! They fucking blew human beings up in meaty chunks.

They had probably already spiked the entire colony! And now, they thought they could just fucking kill me? _I just came back from the fucking dead!_

He yanked the Lancer over the dwindling cover of the front-end of the truck, sighted down the nearest enemy, a steel-grey geth platform wielding one of their trademark rifles, trying to focus on training the end of the rifle at the center of the closest Geth.

Not even waiting to breathe, Thomas pulled the trigger, sending out a long spray of hypersonic slugs. A testament to just how terrible his aim was when under pressure, most of the slugs went way off to the right, hitting nothing but air and prefabs. However, it made the geth look at him for just long enough that the rest of the squad could join in the firefight, spraying the mechanical constructs with tungsten. Hillary in particular seemed effective, pinning down platforms with precision-bursts from her Revenant.

Feeling his hands stop shaking, Thomas rejoined the firefight, this time actually managing to hit what he was aiming for, even if it wasn't a killing shot. Adrenaline was one weird drug alright, and he wasn't sure whether this time from his own body or the armor providing it.

Still, having the right leg turned to scrap could do the same shit to a Geth as it could to a human. A loud blast came from the left, causing him to flinch as balls of plasma suddenly ate their way through their cover from a new angle.

Looking to the source of the firing, a Geth had just emerged from under some sort of cloaking, hefting a shotgun with a design that was utterly alien, even for this place. _Oh fuck me…_

Ünalan was already firing away at it with his sidearm, for some reason not using his left hand to wield the pistol, a Raikou like his own. The hand cannon boomed and punched the Geth to a stagger. With the joined fire of the Turk, Jim, and Thomas, they took the geth down with enough holes that they could've seen through its body. New blasts sounded already as the geth was tumbling, forcing the squad to return attention to a new spot, where multiple geth troopers were pouring in from around corners of buildings, some discarding dead bodies as they opted to shoot at the _live_ humans instead.

Surprisingly, the plasma didn't make a lot of noise like Thomas thought it would. It was more of a hissing sound whenever the geth fired, whereas their own weapons barked fire with the best of them, the noise drowning out whatever else could be said or heard. As Thomas was about to start shooting again, his rifle having cooled down, a hand dragged him down to his knees. Out of instincts, and possibly the rush of adrenaline too, he almost whipped Donkey in the head with the butt of his rifle before recognizing him. His mouth was moving, but hearing anything in this noise was not possible, as illustrated when Jim stood back up behind the sergeant, his Katana barking off several loud blasts, the sound merging with the existing level of noise. He seemed to have lost his rifle somewhere.

Instead then, Donkey slapped Thomas' shoulder, then pointed at the corner of a building some twenty meters from the truck. He then held up three fingers, doing a rapid countdown on them before pointing at the house again. _Run to the house… run to the house! Is he insane?_

Thomas wasn't sure if Donkey had somehow _not_ _noticed_ how a single burst of fire drained his shields to half, but Thomas knew he'd be dead long before he ever got over there. The sergeant just looked to where Ashley and Hillary were trading fire with the geth, both of them belching out fire from their Assault Rifles before taking shifts to cool down. He then looked back at Thomas, shouting something. It sounded like…

 _Over_ _you_ … over _you_ … _cover_ you?

Thomas just hoped he was right, or he wouldn't even get to regret being wrong in the thinking that – Aesir help him – they would give him some covering fire. He pressed his eyes closed, trying to shut out the constant noise that not even the helmet could shield him from before opening them again, nodding at Donkey.

He guessed right here and now wasn't as much about being the highest rank as it was about taking initiative. And seeing as Ashley was busy throwing down with the geth rifles, the role fell to Donkey. _Okay… I can do this if you cover me. Just… don't let me die, alright?_

" _Well this is certainly an interesting situation. If it makes your mood better, I see the life forms of the Normandy crew entering the system as we speak. Shepard should be here soon."_

" _Well that's fucking great."_ Thomas muttered, wincing as shots strafed above his head. The spheres ate their way into the wall of a prefab, turning wall into perforated plasteel. _Would you mind having him hurry the fuck up?_

The slap on his shoulder was all the signal Thomas needed – and got – that the time had come for him to haul ass towards the prefab-house.

He jumped from behind the truck even as Donkey started belching out fire from his own position, pouring rather unfocused, but – hopefully – suppressing, fire at the geth. He could just feel how the stunt snapped some tendons in his ankles, - _gods it HURTS!_ – Not that he had the luxury of stopping to complain as plasma scorched the grass behind him, adding yet another insensitive to hurry the _fuck_ up and run, getting behind the building just as more plasma ate the ground behind him.

Even as he slammed into cover, Thomas could hear a scream coming from the truck.

Feeling the dread rise in his chest, he snapped around just in time to see Mikhail getting the majority of his chest carved out by balls of plasma fired by a geth shotgun. There wasn't even any blood this time, just the holes in his body. The others took down the machine even as the corporal sank to the ground. Thomas stared, unwilling to believe what he was witnessing. _Fuck! No! No gods damn it! Where the fuck is Shepard when we need him?!_

Anger. Rage. Fury… it welled up, almost blocking his vision as the world became hazed, slightly green-tinted, and seemed to slow down. Thomas yanked the rifle around the corner, pulling the trigger straight into the head of a geth. This time, every slug hit, and the platform crumbled with the destruction of its flashlight. Looking back at the truck, he noticed something beyond it, seeing what looked like low-flying birds. Only… _Oh fuck me!_

"MOVE! DRONES!" He screamed, trying to get their attention. Fucking geth! Why the _fuck_ couldn't they play fair and just let their radios work?

His squad couldn't hear a word he was saying, and the drones were closing in. They opened fire, concentrated sprays of plasma-like fire hammering the truck only inches from Hillary's head. The woman ducked down in shock, avoiding the next burst as it flew straight above her head, slamming into the side mirror of the truck, turning it into molten glass and slag. The squad shifted targets, hammering the drones which, thank the gods, seemed much more frail than their bipedal counterparts.

Thomas couldn't shoot the drones for fear of hitting his own comrades, but he could shoot the _geth_ trying to pin the squad down. For some reason, his shields had stopped screaming and were steadily rising again, despite the fact that more than one of the machines were actively firing at him, each stray bolt eating away at the building he was covering behind. As soon as the barrage stopped, he leaned out again, putting death to the machine as dozens of slugs hammered against its shields, breaking them before penetrating its armor and shattering the body.

As he was laying down fire, more geth were streaming in and the squad was forced to abandon the truck, as the vehicle had started catching fire from a bolt hitting the fuel cells. Thomas just put down range as much fire as he could, trying to force the geth into cover _. But, how do you suppress an enemy with no fear of death?_

The small, grassy plaza was starting to crawl with geth, the robotic assholes simply stepping over their own dead to get to the soldiers. Mikail was still lying where he fell, smoking holes in his torso. The encroaching geth were already at his position, one of them putting its rifle to his head before pulling the trigger. His head exploded in a spread of red and pink. As if it wasn't enough that they killed him already, now they were just desecrating his body!

"FUCKING BASTARDS!" Jim screamed, his shotgun blasting out pellets at a rapid pace as he rushed the geth currently gunning down the dead corporal. They merely turned their necks to regard him, as if he was nothing but a mere nuisance; "FUCK. YOU! FUCK. YOU!"

"JIM!" Hillary screamed as she poured fire at the geth along with the rest of the team, desperately trying to keep the machines from both killing them and Jimmy The woman started out from the corner, dodging and running through gunfire to get to the private. Jim was kneeling over Mikail's corpse, desperately firing at anything coming close enough.

"GET BACK HERE PRIVATE!l!" Ashley roared, pulling out her own sidearm as the rifle cooled off, taking the flashlight out in a geth that came just too close for comfort, meaning it came into view at all. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!_

"We' can't stay here!" Thomas shouted, watching as more and more geth appeared from the alleys and corners around houses. It was only a matter of time before something worse than geth started appearing, and he didn't want to see what Dragon Teeth did to humans. Not in real life.

"We have to protect the colony!" Bates shouted, diving behind cover as a volley of plasma traced him to a near-fatal hit, burning into his shields at the helmet. Thank the gods, the shielding still worked.

"Bates, do you fucking see _anyone_ but us here?!" Thomas shouted back, wincing as more plasma came his way, tearing off a sign from the building. When it landed on the ground, it roughly read 'B- guns' with a hole burned straight through the Scotsman's name.

Thomas dared looking around, hoping to see the Scott hiding somewhere around. Instead, he saw Bhatia vanish around a corner, being dragged by a Geth. Ashley didn't appear to have noticed it, so he didn't say anything, but nonetheless felt a terrible sting in his chest, knowing the fate awaiting the woman.

"Our orders in this situ- fuck!" Bates shouted, recoiling as the cover of a traffic-barrier was eaten by plasma, just a few inches to the right of his elbow; "Our orders are to _protect_ any and all civilians during the evacuation then hold for reinforcements or scatter into the hills! WE HAVEN'T EVACUA-"

He was cut short when more plasma broke through the barrier, eating both shield and armor in his hardsuit before carving straight through his helmet, leaving his body to drop the rifle and slump to the ground. The look on the remaining pieces of his face, mostly the left eye, showed pure surprise, as he never even got to duck from the plasma. Thomas' heart was beating away faster than ever, his head hurting from the adrenaline pumping through his body. _Fuck! No!_

 _"_ NOOOOO!"

 _"BATES!"_ Donkey cried, a mere second of denial in his voice; "BATE'S DOWN! _WILLAMS!"_

"HILLARY! JIM! GET BACK HERE! WE! ARE! LEAVING!" Ashley screamed, firing her rifle on full auto at the geth who just took Bate's life, cutting it down with fury. Hillary was tearing into the geth on her own, allthewhile trying to pull Jimmy to his feet at Mikail's corpse.

No, no, no, no! They couldn't lose like this, not like this! They couldn't just be meaningless sacrifices in this shit! _No one else gets to die! Please gods, no more!_

"Chief! Above you!" Donkey shouted, pulling Ashley's shotgun from her hip before blasting upwards in one fluid motion. Toppling from the roof of the prefab, just a few meters above them, a rubbery geth fell to the ground, front shattered by the surprisingly fast reaction from the sergeant. Thomas looked around as a panicked notion entered his mind;

"Where the _fuck_ is Bolin!"

"HILLARY! JIM!" Ashley shouted again, her voice strained and desperate. _Fuck, fuck, fuck! This is Hel! We're dead, dead! We're all going to die here, on this putrid mud ball! And what happened to Bolin? He was here just before!_

Hillary finally managed to yank Jim from the ground. The idiotic private didn't want to leave the dead corporal, only retreating painfully slowly, making Thomas cringe with each step he could have taken so much faster.

"Donkey! Where the fuck is Nadang!" he cried out, trying to get the sergeant's attention. Donkey turned to him, his face ashen grey. He didn't know either, and the dread was clear in his eyes. _For the love of all Deities ever invented by humankind!_

"JIM!" The sergeant shouted. Thomas looked back to where Hillary and Jim were retreating, only to watch the woman pick up the private in her arms, carrying him backwards while he kept up a relentless barrage of fire. The explanation to why she was carrying him was found by looking at his legs, where most of the left leg had been shot off beneath the knee. Donkey slapped Thomas' shoulder, getting his attention to him.

"Give me some covering fire!" was all he shouted as he rushed into the killing field, grabbing Jim around the waist before carrying him over his shoulder, allowing Hillary to switch back to her rifle and fall back to some cover. _Cover… what good is cover? We are all going to die here anyway…_

Thomas sank to his knees, trying to get the fuzzy sensation from his head. _This place was never in the game, Shepard won't pass by here… we're on our own, surrounded… outgunned, outnumbered… outclassed probably too…_

To think, he had held the dream of coming here once. He had had the notion that in this universe, all was good and even war was manageable since you had all this modern gear and shields and… now… now this was just as much Hel as they used to describe Afghanistan and Serbia… To think, Thomas carried the dream that he could do something here.

That _he_ could make a difference… it seemed like, now, the only difference he was going to make would be in the number of geth Shepard faced down. He might've even gotten a memorial plate, if the Reapers didn't win. _Hel, to think, I thought I could serve with Shepard, Kaidan and Garrus and Ashley…Ashley!_

Ashley was _still_ _fighting_.

Ashley was still fighting, Jim was wounded and even Hillary was fighting… and he was just sitting here, wallowing in self-pity. The world started coming back, the fuzzy feeling receding somewhat. Then the whining pitch in his ears started dying down, replaced by the sounds of battle.

Ashley was still fighting. And to Niflheim with the geth, he was going to fight as well!

Shaking the dread from his mind, Thomas picked the rifle back up, gritting his teeth as he aimed down the sights, targeting a geth firing at Hillary before pulling the trigger, sending a spray of death against the platform of destruction. He stayed on his knee, using the crouched position to help his aim.

As Donkey ran past him with Jim in a fireman's carry, Hillary in tow, Thomas got up from his place on the ground, turning around to follow the others. _Gods, this is never-_

His mind shut down completely as plasma once more seers from behind, cutting straight past him, into the back of Hillary… _No… No, not her too. Not Her Too! No more, please Gods, no more!_

I turned with a desperate, silent scream, pressing the stock of his rifle against his shoulder as he took aim, gunning down the geth that just took down Hillary. He kept up the fire, only stopping whenever the bar was just about to reach overheating on the HUD. He didn't know how many geth he'd gunned down, only that every geth coming around the corner while Ashley was helping Hillary, was getting sent to whatever Hell it believed in.

That was when he heard it.

The sentence he had dreaded since the start of this entire thing. The words that, put together, would mean the end of his purpose here.

"The Chief is down! Fisher, help her!" Donkey shouted, managing to provide steady firing with just one hand holding the Lancer, the other keeping Jimmy over his shoulder. _How? How? Both Hillary and Ashley are down, I can't- I can't help them both!_

As the sergeant poured down fire and death at the geth, Thomas slung his own rifle over his shoulder, fastening it in its magnetic clamps. He picked up Ashley from the ground, seeing the shoot that went clean through her leg, eating inwards a good way before stopping short of penetrating into a golf ball sized hole. If there was one sick bright side to all this, it was that the wound wasn't bleeding. And, she was still conscious, although there was no way she could stand on that leg, even he could see that in his panicked state. _Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuuck!_

There was no way he was leaving her behind! No fucking way! But, he couldn't just leave Hillary, not while there still was a chance to save her. She was still showing up as 'alive' on his HUD, and there was no way he was leaving her for a neckshot from the geth.

Thomas looked at where Hillary was injured, finding that plasma, while having eaten her armor, had only managed to boil through skin and some outer tissue. The red, raw muscle was still covering the bones, but undoubtedly giving her severe pains, unless she was already passed out. He looked to Ashley, who was still taking shots at the geth with her sidearm.

"Ash, if I support you, could you limp next to me, use me as a crutch?" he asked with a groan, starting to pick up Hillary. The servos in his suit kicked in at the extra load, yet he could still feel his spine protesting the weight. _Gods, why did the same armor saving her life have to be the heavies hardsuit on the squad?!_

" _Don't_ … worry about me, just get… Hillary up." She hissed, biting her lip. The pain she was in was evident, and Thomas cringed at the sight of her injuries.

He couldn't imagine even the famous Medigel being able to dull that kind of pain. The fact that she wasn't screaming with a hole in her thigh… he wasn't sure what to say actually. Right now, his mind was fully occupied on maintaining a balance with an unconscious Hillary on his shoulders.

"Come on Ashley! I am _NOT_ leaving you here!" he shouted, making sure the sergeant was still doing his best to cover them with Jim carried over his shoulder. Donkey didn't even spare a glimpse to Thomas or the women he was carrying, instead firing his Lancer with one hand, while hoisting the incapacitated Norroty on the other.

"GO! GO GODDAMMIT!" Donkey roared, turning to see if Thomas was complying; "GO! I'll take-"

As if to prove that the universe was a crueler place than Thomas'd thought it to be, a volley of plasma suddenly cut through the air, impacting on Donkey's abdomen with the sound of dispersing, wet air. The first few splashes drained his shields, while the next ate through the armor of his hardsuit, unrelenting until they passed out the other side of him again. There was no kinetic impact to send the man to the ground, and so he simply remained standing, taking the shots.

Donkey stared down himself, eyes wide behind his visor;

 _"Oh...Oh...Oh...shit..."_

The world froze as they both looked at his stomach, Donkey's eyes wide with surprise as he dropped the rifle, hand crawling towards the multiple holes in his body, all centered in one single cluster. Guts started spilling out, thick coils of fat snakes with burns, dropping from the holes like fleeing worms. _No! NOOOO! NOOOOO!_

"NOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOO NO NOOOO _NO_ _NO_ _NO_!"

Thomas was screaming, wanting most of all to not believe what he was seeing. He wanted so desperately to help, yet there was nothing he could do. Ashley was the only person alive with paramedical training, and she was close to passing out from pain!

Donkey's hard eyes meet his, a silent plea for help as his legs buckled under him, sending him and Jim crashing to the ground. Ashley didn't scream yet, instead pulling off multiple shots from her sidearm, the Raikou sending off shots that were starting to lose their accuracy, hitting widely past the approaching geth. A few did hit though, hammering the torso of a geth with its shields having already been drained.

It didn't stop it, but causes it to switch target from himself to Ashley. _That'll be a lie! Not us! Not us! Not us!_

Not knowing what else to do, Thomas took off at a run towards the geth, using the added mass of Hillary's slumped form to kick the machine to the ground. He grabbed the Raikou from his hip, squeezing off shots as he retreated with one wounded soldier over his shoulders, and another waiting to be supported. _How did things go so wrong?!_

Not even stopping, he drew on whatever resources remaining in the hardsuit, pulling Ashley from the ground hard enough that he could feel a joint dislocate somewhere in his shoulder. Biting his teeth in pain, he closed his eyes as he stumbled past the unconscious form of Jim. _I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!_

Thomas cried. The tears were making it difficult for him to see where he was going, and only a miracle saw me running uphill, having put the prefabs behind him in favor of… green. Green and brown. The tears and the adrenaline were making it hard to tell.

Somewhere back there, Jim had probably already received a neckshot from the geth, unless they wanted him for… No, no he couldn't think like that. Thomas just had to keep running, running and running. He didn't know where, but he knew he had to get out of there, out of this colony, away from the death.

Pain.

White-hot, searing pain burned through his leg, causing him to stumble in his running. Nausea filled him as the pain intensified, burning through his system. He didn't know what was wrong, didn't know what was happening, why it hurt, but he had to keep moving.

Pain again, the same leg.

This time, he stumbled hard enough that he lost his grip on Hillary, the woman falling from his shoulder as he struggled to keep standing, to keep running. The pain intensified, adrenaline rushing through his veins, sharpening his senses. Thomas turned: he had to get Hillary. Had to save her. Had to save as many as he could.

The team… Bolin, Donkey, Jimmy, Bates, Mikail, Bhatia, the doctors… all dead. But he could save just these two. _Aesir, please let me save these two! Just these two!_

He managed to find Hillary through the blurred outline of his vision, the tears having mostly stopped. He didn't know why, didn't much care either. Thomas was drained. Physically and emotionally drained, and even just trying to pick up Hillary was enough that his legs started finally giving out under him.

Hissing sound…

When he grabbed and threw the women to the side, Thomas wasn't even fully conscious of his actions. He knew what the sound was, could tell where it was going, and how far away it was. Ashley landed in a screaming heap, while Hillary didn't even make a sound. Having thrown the latter, his servos gave out.

Then something punched him in his lower back. Something tore. Something broke. Something burned. Thomas couldn't understand what he was feeling, when the explosion sent him flying through the air. He knew it was pain, but beyond that, he was mentally drained beyond comprehension.

Boulders. Familiar boulders. He knew them; he'd seen them before. This was where Shepard would come through. He'd made it, he'd saved Ashley and Hillary. He'd…

A sight before him, a person, cut down his train of thought, even as he hit the ground.

 _Tali!?_

* * *

Codex entry: Alliance Navy.

 _The Alliance Navy is the branch of the Systems Alliance military responsible for naval operations. The Alliance Marines, the ground operations branch of the Alliance military, are a specialized branch of the Navy._

 _The Human Systems Alliance is the main military force dedicated to the defensive and offensive operations of Humanity beyond Lagrange-II orbit of Earth. Its vessels are split into several fleets, currently numbering at ten main fleets, as well as seventy flotillas ranging in sizes from escort-groups of five, to raiding flotillas of dozens of warships._

 _In order for a fleet to become a MBF, or Main Battle Fleet, an admiral is required to directly oversee the actions and procedures of the fleet, assume direct control as well as responsibility for all actions taken by the respective captains of the included vessels. That aside, seeing how the 6_ _th_ _Raiders are commanded by Admiral Petrovsky, a fleet also needs to meet a certain standard of numbers, as well as class-range to be considered MBF-material._

 _The key requirement is for the fleet in question to field one Dreadnought and or Carrier. As Humanity currently boasts just ten Dreadnoughts, there exists just ten Main Battle Fleets._

1st Fleet

 _Commanded by Admiral Ines Lindholm, the First Fleet is responsible for guarding the Relay to Arcturus from Sol. It serves as a quick reactionary force to be called upon in case of attacks over three separate clusters, and with its size of three hundred vessels, remains the largest of Humanity's fleets._

 _Lindholm is a former Military Commander of the Kalmar 2_ _nd_ _Navy, and commands her fleet from onboard the SSV Kebnekaise._

2nd Fleet

 _Commanded by Admiral Kastanie Drescher during the First Contact War of 2157, the Second Fleet was responsible for the liberation of Shanxi from Turian occupation. Part of the Second Fleet was made up of materiel and volunteers from Elysium._

 _Drescher still serves as Admiral of the Second Fleet, commanding it from onboard her Dreadnought, the SSV Watzmann, a Kilimanjaro-class Dreadnought built before the First Contact War. It remains one of the oldest Dreadnoughts in use by the Alliance Navy._

3rd Fleet

 _Stationed at Arcturus Station, the Third Fleet is headed by Admiral Nitesh Singh. Being part of the Arcturus fleet, Singh is one of the Admirals whose vessels are highest prioritized for overhauls, retrofits and upgrades coming out of the Alliance Munitions Labs._

 _Nitesh Singh commands the Third Fleet from his Dreadnought, the SSV Logan, the second Everest-class Dreadnought constructed after the First Contact War._

4th Fleet

 _The Fourth Fleet is directly responsible for the safety of Earth, as it is the Guardian Fleet in constant orbit of the planet. Commanded by Admiral Stephen Hackett, it boasts not just a Dreadnought, the SSV Rushmore, but also two Fighter Carriers, the SSV Nelson Mandela and the SSV Nikola Tesla._

 _The Fourth Fleet is the only Alliance Fleet to also include ODP's, or Orbital Defense Platforms, armored and armed satellites ranging in sizes from telescope-sized turrets, to floating guns the size of a heavy Cruiser._

5th Fleet

 _The Fifth Fleet is also known as the Arcturus Fleet, as it is based at Arcturus Station. Admiral Hackett is the current commanding officer. Along with the Third Fleet, the Fifth is tasked with defending Arcturus, the entrance to Sol and connected systems._

 _Admiral Hackett commands the Arcturus Fleet from onboard the SSV Everest, the very first Everest-class Dreadnought ever made, and the progenitor of the class._

6th Fleet and Flotilla

 _Not to be confused with the popular vid of same name, the Sixth is a special case in which Admiral Oleg Petrovsky commands both the Sixth Fleet and the 6_ _th_ _Flotilla from onboard his Dreadnought the SSV Caucasus._

 _While the Fleet remains stationed at Terra Nova, the flotilla is regularly utilized by the Alliance for fast insertions, recovery missions, patrolling and harassment of enemy convoys. Petrovsky often commands such missions in person._

 _The SSV Caucasus was finished the appliance of its armored plating mere weeks before kinetic shielding came on par with that of the Turians, meaning the ship is one of the most expensive, but also most heavily armored warships in existence, sporting both 1600mm titanium plating, as well as Dreadnought-class shields._

7th Fleet

 _The Seventh Fleet is currently stationed at Grissom Academy over Elysium, commanded by Admiral Joseph McAllen. The fleet is currently made up of seventy-five vessels, most of which are heavy frigates and battleships. It is due rotation for Eden Prime in 2184._

 _McAllen commands his fleet from onboard the SSV Sandford, an Everest-class Dreadnought._

8th Fleet

 _The Eight Fleet is currently stationed in the Asgard system. It is commanded by Admiral Johann Sanders, from the Dreadnought SSV Blind Justice._

9th Fleet

 _The Alliance Ninth Fleet patrols the outer systems of Alliance Space, particularly in the Skyllian Verge, where colonies are often raided by Terminus slavers and pirates._

 _Admiral Amandepp Zuu commands the fleet from the fleet's Carrier, the SSV Mahatma Gandhi, not the SSV Cook, as usual doctrine prescribes._

10th Fleet

 _Commanded by Rear-Admiral Anna Cologne Fisher, the Tenth Fleet is stationed at Arcturus Station, yet does not include in the designated Arcturus Fleet. Rather, the Tenth is a flexible fleet, intended for heavy-duty reinforcements, as well as providing the bulk of an eventual defense against intrusions into Inner Alliance Space by hostile warships._

 _Admiral Fisher commands the Tenth from her Everest-class Dreadnought, the SSV Hong Kong. It has been debated whether the Hong Kong is a Dreadnought or a Battleship, as it sports the superior broadsides of a Battleship, but the size of a Dreadnought._

 _The Tenth Fleet consists of over two-hundred warships, thereby making it the second-largest fleet in the Alliance, as well as the size of Humanity's collective warships before the First Contact War in 2157._

11th Reinforcements Fleet

 _A source of controversy, the Alliance Eleventh Fleet technically falls outside of usual doctrines, in that it does not include a Dreadnought, yet remains a 'Fleet'._

 _Commanded by Admiral Anna Cologne Fisher together with the Tenth Fleet, the Eleventh serves its main purpose as a multitasking fleet, providing replacement ships for the Tenth, as well as additional security when stationed at Arcturus Station._

 _The Eleventh Fleet as a whole has never seen actual combat, but remains on standby whenever the Tenth is tasked with combat-probable missions._


	4. RE

**Fourth chapter out! YAY :D**

 **Changes have been made, some cheesy stuff have been removed, and actual consequences of nomming a rocket are introduced.**

* * *

 **No Longer Whole**

* * *

The world slowly returned, the fuzziness accompanied by the sound of an iv-drop and a heart-rate monitor. Thomas stirred, feeling a numbness in every cell of his body. Everything was dark, though he quickly realized through the no-doubt drug-induced fog, that this was caused by his eyes being shut.

Yet, he didn't immediately feel like opening them.

What… happened?

He remembered fleeing the colony, carrying Hillary and Ashley. He remembered running uphill, desperately trying to outrun the Geth. _Gods, the Geth. They're real. They're actually fucking real. They're real and they…Thor's mercy, they killed everyone!_

The realization was like a bullet to the chest. Thomas gasped, fighting down the sobs when he realized that everyone, the people he had come to see as friends and comrades, had all been killed. Donkey, Jimmy, Bates, Bolin and Mikhail, they were all dead. The Geth had killed them all, along with the people in Constant. _Everyone. EVERYONE! They killed everyone and I couldn't do shit!_

"Miss Williams?" someone said a name, one he only dimly realized was important to him. It wasn't his own name though, but rather that of an important person. Something scraped against metal to his side, followed by a deep, exhausted sigh of relief.

Thomas still didn't feel like opening his eyes. If he did, it would mean he had to acknowledge everything that had happened. So instead, he simply remained as he was, clenching his fists as his breathing came out in ragged gasps and croaks.

"Thank God, I thought…I didn't know if…"

"He was lucky, that much we can agree on." The first voice, the one thanking God, he knew. He knew it was a person he cared for, but couldn't make out the definitive importance through the mixture of grief and whatever drugs were running through his systems; "For now, I think we should simply let him rest."

"Right, I…didn't mean to…Would it be trouble if I remained here?" the voice he knew asked. Thomas didn't want to cause trouble, and didn't want to be subjugated to whatever awaited him when he opened his eyes, so he simply decided to listen, and calm down.

"Not at all." The new voice replied; "I understand how you feel, even if I might not know what you're thinking. People under your command are injured, it is only natural that you feel responsible for what happened. Regardless of whether or not you are."

"Doctor, he took a _rocket_ to save us." the voice, the _woman_ he knew pressed. Her face was starting to register in his mind, clearing somewhat through the mist of painkillers. Right, he could recognize painkillers in his systems because of…because of…He didn't know, just that they were painkillers; "If I hadn't insisted on…If I hadn't been shot, he wouldn't have had to."

"Well then, I suppose you should blame the Geth, not yourself, Miss Williams." There was something amounting to admonishing in the other's tone. It sounded older than the woman he…knew. He knew the first, the youngest of the speakers. Lightly tanned face, brown eyes, black hair, armor... _Ashley!_

Ashley had made it. He had in the very least managed to save _one_ of his fellow soldiers. The relief was like a wave, rolling over his body with sensations of tenseness being released, and the knot in his chest started dissipating.

"I…Sorry, I'm just…Everything went so deep to Hell, I'm not sure what to do." Ashley replied, a ragged edge to her voice. More than anything, Thomas wanted to sit up and take the blame, regardless of whether or not he could have actually prevented anything.

"It is perfectly fine. Do you want something to drink, by any chance?" the other voice asked again. Thomas started to recognize it as a voice he had heard before, though he was not sure when or where. There was a confused 'hmm?' from Ashley, somewhere to his close right, followed by a very meek chuckle; "You haven't moved from that chair since we brought you onboard, Chief Williams. It's been more than twelve hours already, and you haven't slept yet, if the logs are to be believed."

"…I don't want to close my eyes." The reply came out bitterly and full of regret; "I'd like some coffee, if that's possible?"

"Hmm, certainly." There was a positive note in the 'hmm', something Thomas recognized. He still didn't know where from though, which frustrated him enough that he seriously considered just opening his eyes. But he also didn't want to interrupt. It seemed like something that would be rude, somehow.

Something liquid started flowing, and he could smell caffeine in the air. Someone was making coffee, and the smell simultaneously sent his mouth watering and had a mild headache pierce his consciousness.

"Careful, it's still hot."

"Thank you…" hesitation followed Ashley's words; "What's…what's going to happen to us now? Their injuries aren't…" she seemed to swallow the last words, and Thomas felt a cold hand of dread when he processed the word 'their'. Either she was saying he had somehow also sustained a critical injury, or maybe Shepard had been wounded. Or maybe the Quarian he had seen? _Maybe I just thought I saw a Quarian. Tali never came to Eden Prime, and what would anyone but Alliance soldiers be…_

"It's hard to say, really." The other voice – he recognized it now as someone he knew from memory, meaning it had to be someone Shepard had known too. It was a woman, and Ashley had addressed her as 'doctor'. Thomas only knew of one doctor Shepard had been around, at least only one _medicinal_ doctor; "Miss Pennyloafer's injuries are primarily sustained by her nervous system, and the armor spared her spinal cord and organs any damage."

"And…him?"

"The armor seems to have broken most of the fall, thank goodness. The burns I have treated the best I could, but the leg…I'm sorry, but there are things we just cannot repair in a med bay like ours." Chakwas – he recognized the voice now as Karin Chakwas, which meant he was most likely on the Normandy. Oddly enough, the realization wasn't nearly as baffling as he'd have once thought it to be – sighed. Thomas stirred, feeling as well as hearing his heartrate speed up when his leg was mentioned.

"What's wrong with my leg?" he spoke before he was even aware of having done do, and caused all conversation to drop instantly. Before he could even open his eyes or fully sit, someone had grabbed his shoulders and pressed him back down, though it was done gently. When he opened his eyes, he could see the regret- and grief-stricken face of Ashley, hovering just a few inches above his. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks bore cuts already healed. None of it served to lessen his anxiety; "Chief, what's wrong with my leg?"

"F- Thomas, please, lie still." It was the first time she had used his name since before he officially joined the squad, and the impact left him stunned enough that he simply complied. Pain was etched all across his superior's face, yet it wasn't physical pain. It was pain born from sympathy. Which didn't make him feel even remotely better.

"Chief?" his unspoken question was now more panicked. Ashley averting her eyes, if however briefly, didn't help the issue; " _Chief_?"

"You saved our lives, Thomas." It wasn't what he needed to hear. He needed to hear what was wrong with his leg, not that he had saved lives; "I'll…I'll make sure we fix it. We're going to the Citadel to treat Hillary, we can treat you there too."

"Fucking Tell Me What's Wrong With My Leg!" he hadn't meant to shout like he did, and the pained expression on Ashley's face made him wince. He just wanted to know what was wrong with his leg, since she was actively holding him down so he couldn't even _see_ it.

"Private Thomas Fisher?" Chakwas made herself noticed now, and Thomas looked at her. Grey hair, medical bodysuit and a grandmotherly expression of concern on her face. She looked exactly like he had always imagined her. He forced himself to nod; "My name is Karin Chakwas. I am the medical officer onboard the SSV Normandy. I need to tell you something important, and I need you to remain calm when I say it. Will you do that?"

Not a 'can you', but a 'will you'. It was nice at least that he wasn't being patronized. Some doctors did that. So he nodded, feeling Ashley's hands slacken on his shoulders.

"First of all, you need to understand that Chief Williams speaks the truth: What you did was heroic, and as a result of your actions, you saved two people from death." Chakwas said. Thomas just stared, currently unable to think of himself as 'heroic', considering his secrecy had led to everything and everyone dying. Still, he nodded, noting that it made Ashley release a huff of relief and exhaustion; "Saving Ashley and Hillary, however, was done at personal cost. We believe that, while your shields managed to spare you the shrapnel of the explosion, as well as the main impact, the kinetic force was still enough that you…did not escape unharmed."

" _Please_ , just _tell_ me." he groaned.

"The explosion tore off your left leg below the knee." Chakwas' voice was both gentle and soothing, yet did nothing to dull the impact of what she had said. Thomas sat up, forcing his way through Ashley with a strength she seemingly did not expect.

There, below the waist, he could see his right leg, stripped of shoe and sock, but whole and intact with the exception of some cuts and a bruise.

To its left, the leg ended at the knee.

"Oh _gods_ …" he whispered, feeling his lungs compress into his throat. Ashley then simply stood back, evidently uncertain of what to do with herself. Thomas hardly saw her. The entirety of his attention was focused on the stump where his left shin and foot should have been; "Oh gods no… _no_ … _no_ … _no_ …no-no-no-no-no-no…"

Thomas felt like throwing up, yet couldn't even gag.

"I'm sorry." He couldn't even make out which of the persons in the room was the one apologizing. He grasped at the stump, clawing with bandaged hands – had he broken fingers too? he couldn't feel them if that was the case – at the sealed and healed stump of hardened gel and synthetic skin.

It was _wrong._ It was wrong and offensive and wrong and sickening and wrong and wrong, wrong, _Wrong_!

No one else spoke for however long he sat there, grabbing at the stump. Or, maybe someone did speak, and he just didn't register it. Ashley hadn't moved, and Chakwas had pulled up a chair and datapad both. She hadn't made a move to engage him though.

After some time, Ashley spoke, though she might have repeated it, as it sounded strained;

"We'll…The Alliance can... can fix…they'll help you, Thomas." It sounded most of all like she was pleading for it to be true. Thomas fixed her with a stare, one he wasn't even fully conscious off. He didn't speak, and neither did she. Had he glared? He hoped not. Ashley didn't deserve to be glared at: she wasn't the one who'd taken his leg.

"…How?" he asked quietly, looking at the thing that was no longer his leg. It was just a stump; "How?"

"…I…"

"Excuse me, is…this a bad time?" Ashley trailed off and looked towards the entrance to the medbay. Thomas did the same, briefly forgetting about his leg upon seeing his first true alien. Not just that, but the fact that he managed to recognize it as an alien he remembered for a fact should be dead.

"Spectre Kryik, I…No, it's fine." Ashley visibly swallowed some emotion Thomas couldn't be bothered to identify. Right now, his mind was torn between grieving and denying everything that had happened, and disbelief at seeing Nihlus Kryik enter the medbay. _Alive, unharmed…What._

"…How are things?" he seemed far more cordial than Thomas remembered. There was an unexpected humility to the Turian's voice, something that just did not make sense.

"Chief Williams is more or less unharmed. The injury to her leg was relatively easy to mend, as long as she does not strain it." Chakwas said, casting a glance at Ashley as she said the last words. Ashley didn't even look annoyed. Something else was occupying her thoughts, that much at least Thomas could see; "Private Pennyloafer likewise is out of danger, but remains in need of proper care."

"Which will be available to her when we arrive at the Citadel." Nihlus nodded, as if to himself. Then he looked at someone at the back of the room. Thomas hadn't even looked in that direction yet. When he did, his mind ordered the eyes to do a double-take, as there clearly was a Quarian on one of the beds. He or she was dressed in a navy-blue suit, and that was about all the details he could make out; "How is he? Any changes?"

"No, none so far." Chakwas shook her head; "I'm monitoring vital signs, pulse and brain-activity. Aside from abnormal beta-waves, nothing seems out of the ordinary."

"Good…" when Nihlus finally looked at Thomas, there was shame painted on the Turian's face. It was as clear as his white markings, and screamed of regret "Private Fish? How…I see you've awoken."

Fisher. He wanted to say _Fisher_.

"Fisher woke up just minutes ago." Chakwas supplied. Nihlus seemed to wince just barely when he realized the name had been wrong; "We were debating what to do about his injury when you entered."

"Fisher." He seemed to chew on the name, remembering it; "Have you been told who was behind the attack?"

"The Geth." he wanted to scream it was Saren, but knew that saying something he had no real way of knowing, was only going to make things harder; "They killed everyone."

"...Yes, it was…I don't see the point in denying this, since Captain Anderson is no-doubt on his way to see you." the Turian breathed deeply, mandibles going closer to his mouth; "The attack was orchestrated by a Council Spectre, far as I have discerned."

"Saren Arterius." The name came out before he could stop it. It was laced with a venom Thomas wasn't even aware he had the capacity to form. If Nihlus in any way was surprised that Thomas had named his former mentor, he didn't let it show; "I know he was on Eden Prime. Did you kill him?"

"Saren…escaped. I narrowly escaped death at his hands, though…I still cannot fathom what could drive him to do this."

"He's an Arterius, Kryik." Ashley ground out, her tone becoming hard.

"True though that may be, it doesn't explain the attack, nor why he tried to kill me." Nihlus sighed; "Regardless, we will inform the Council when we arrive at the Citadel. If Saren has gone rogue, and controls the Geth, I don't trust communications other than directly with the Council."

Thomas stared back down at his leg, then at the Spectre. He still had some trouble wrapping his head around the fact that he was looking at a real alien, a sentient non-human. It wasn't made any less mindboggling by the fact that Nihlus wasn't supposed to be _alive_.

Something had happened. Something that had thrown the original line of events off.

"He tried to kill you?" he finally asked. Nihlus nodded;

"I encountered him near the dig-site. When I turned my back, he drew a gun on me." when the Turian then looked at the still Quarian, Thomas started feeling a new knot in his stomach. Something else was wrong, something aside from Nihlus being here; "I only survived because of Shepard's intervention."

"Shepard?"

"Jon'Shepard, to be precise." Kryik gestured at the unconscious or sleeping Quarian, and Thomas felt like something snapped. Like a string or a rubber band in his brain had just been pulled an inch too far; "Saren managed to escape, but we prevented him from destroying the colony."

"… _Jon_ 'Shepard?" it just didn't sound right.

"I'm assuming he's an exile, or descendant of an exile." Nihlus said. Thomas, meanwhile, had a headache on the way; "He's a biotic, which should exclude him being born on their Migrant fleet."

"I didn't think…I didn't think Quarians _could_ be biotics."

"It's rare, but there are recorded examples. Never from their fleet, though." The Turian shifted his attention when aforementioned Quarian began to stir; "Doctor, is he waking up?"

"Slowly, but yes, I believe he might be coming about." Chakwas replied, making her way to where _Jon'Shepard_ was moving a hand to his faceplate. Thomas, grounded as he was to the bed, simply sat straight and stared.

There was so much wrong with today. He prayed it was all just a messed up dream brought forth by his own guilty consciousness.

"Uhhrr… what happened"

"Shepard, how do you feel?" Chakwas asked, putting a hand on the alien's shoulder. Thomas just stared, only stopping when he felt a hand touch his right arm. Ashley still hadn't moved, but had instead remained at his side, somehow. She seemed more tired now than before, but also slightly more at ease. The hand stayed on his arm, something Thomas was not mentally prepared for. It almost seemed protective, though he couldn't understand why.

"…Doctor _Chakwas_? I… remember you. The marines from Eden Prime, did they…?" he turned towards the two of them, a sag going through him. It was so unnatural to see aliens, Thomas was still just trying to keep his expression calm. Also he probably looked like shit, still reeling from the shock of a leg less than when he'd gotten up in the morning; "…I saw you go down, throwing Williams and Hilarly aside."

No one commented on his butchering of Hillary's name. It seemed to be a tendency with aliens and human names, apparently.

"You…so…I thought I saw a Quarian when…but, that was you?" Thomas sighed, rubbing his palm over his eyes. Unconsciousness didn't equal sleep, and he felt like shit now that the adrenaline was leaving his systems again.

"Yes. The sound of gunfire drew me to your location." Jon'Shepard – it was unnaturally _creepy_ that his name was a Quarian version of the human Shepard's name. Also, where _was_ Shepard? – gave a small, weak chuckle at his own words; "…Good thing too, or you'd probably be dead now."

"But…You're…you're…"

"A Quarian?" Shepard asked, tilting his head just enough that it negated the small irritation in his voice. Or maybe it was just the translator in Thomas' ear having taken damage. He shook his head at the question;

" _One_ person. _How_ …how could _one_ person just...We lost _everyone_ , and you just…what, hacked your way through?" he hadn't meant for the last part to come out so bitterly, but fact of the matter was, so many had died while this one Quarian hadn't. Even if Nihlus had been there, he couldn't see how that was possible.

"It might come as a surprise, but I'm not the most… _competent_ , when it comes to technology. Best I can do is hack an Omnitool." Jon said, then held up a fist. A second passed by, and it glowed a deep, pulsating purple. Right, biotics actually existed. Shit, that was going to take some time getting used to; "I've always relied on my biotics, which might be why I neglected the tech-sessions. Biotics more or less guaranteed me a spot with the Fleet Marines, hacking or not."

"Marines?" Chakwas was the first to ask; "I didn't think the Migrant fleet _could_ produce biotics."

"I'm…a bit of a special case." He admitted, and then said no more. Thomas could feel the hand on his arm tighten just a bit, and wondered if there was something he wasn't being told. He hoped not; patience had taken a back-seat when his left leg had been ripped off.

"Well, physically you're alright." Chakwas noted; "I did notice some abnormal Beta-waves when I checked your brain-activity, but nothing serious. Different species react differently to head-trauma; some experience lucid dreams, though as very little medical history really exists on your people, I'm afraid I don't have a lot to compare against."

"What happened with the colony?" Thomas asked, looking from Nihlus to Jon, then to Chakwas; "And not to look a gift horse in the…mouth, I guess, but…"

He didn't know how to finish that sentence, and thus simply let the words hang in the air.

"The colony itself is more or less intact." Nihlus said; "the colonists who managed to hide in their homes were seemingly ignored. As for the garrison, however…I am sorry, but you were the only soldiers we found alive. The rest were…dead, or worse."

"… _worse_?" he feared with all his being that he knew what Nihlus meant, but hoped he was wrong. Imagining the people he had come to know and work alongside with, both Dog Squad, but also Saber, Bravo, Foxtrot and the rest of the 212th, turned into husks…it made him want to throw up.

"The Geth deployed some sort of spikes…" the Spectre began. Ashley's hand tightened again, and it started to actually _hurt_.

"They stuck people on them like meat." She growled, then let go when Thomas winced and she became aware of her hand; "God as my witness, they mutated human beings into…some kind of…walking dead."

"Nanotechnology, most likely." Nihlus added; "Still, it doesn't make sense for the Geth to suddenly come out past the Perseus Veil, much less to follow an organic like Saren."

"Saren's a manipulative bastard, I wouldn't put this past him." No one had heard the doors open, but Thomas knew that voice. Even as he turned his head to look, the sound of shoes on metal signaled David Anderson's entrance. The man looked like he'd had the worst day of the worst week in his life, a perpetual scowl marring his expression; "If I could have a moment with the marines?"

"Of course, Captain." Chakwas nodded. Jon'Shepard swung his legs over the side of the bed, then followed the doctor as she left the medbay. Nihlus paused at the door;

"I'll be in the CIC, Anderson."

"I'll see you there, then." Anderson nodded, watching Nihlus leave before he turned back to Thomas and Ashley; "I should introduce myself first. I am Captain David Anderson of the SSV Normandy."

"Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams of the 212th, Sir."

"…Private Thomas Fisher of the 212th, Sir…" he just didn't have the energy left in him to stand at attention, much less actually _stand_ ; "Sir, could I ask…why you are here?"

"You know about the Beacon the colony found?" Anderson asked. Thomas nodded, he did know they'd found it, and he knew what it was. He also knew Saren had been after it, and knew Commander Shepard was supposed to have been in contact with it; "The Normandy's mission here was to extract the Beacon and bring it to the Citadel. Then we arrived in the system, and immediately got pinged by a distress signal."

"You…got our signal?" Thomas wasn't sure why he was surprised. Mikhail had been a far more competent marine than him, so of course he'd managed to get a message out while under heavy fire. And now he was dead.

"Yes, but unfortunately the Normandy doesn't carry a large marine detail." The Captain sighed in frustration; "We sent down Commander Dawson with the rest of the detail. The Geth killed them."

Commander _Dawson_. Not Commander _Shepard_.

Thomas sat back, struggling to breathe. He was panicking, and even though he knew he shouldn't, that it wouldn't solve _anything_ , he couldn't stop. The air was coming down in too short and ragged gasps, and his chest couldn't expand properly.

"Thomas." Ashley grabbed him by the shoulder again, pressing the other palm against his chest; "Breathe. Slowly. Take a long, deep breath, and exhale. Long deep breath, and exhale."

"First time in action?" he hardly registered Anderson's question, and hoped _he_ wasn't supposed to answer. He could barely breathe, even though Ashley's instructions helped. His superior nodded grimly, then looked at him with an expression of deep sympathy.

"Thomas was only transferred from the EFEC last week."

"EFEC?" Anderson looked from Ashley to him; "…from the Scandinavian Union?"

"Yes, Sir." He managed to get out. He'd found out enough about what seemed to be some sort of alternate history that he knew his supposed background. Kalmar Union troops were soldiers from all over Scandinavia, including Iceland and Finland. It had been an invigorating discovery when he'd found it, but now…he wasn't sure. It felt like he was lying even though he wasn't; "I'm sorry, I can't…I just need a moment…"

"Take your time, son." Anderson took the chair Chakwas had used, and sat down. Thomas nodded rapidly, taking as slow and deep breaths as he could manage. Shepard wasn't on the Normandy, had never _been_ on the Normandy. Instead, the Normandy's commander had been a man named Dawson, and the only Shepard he'd met so far was a biotic Quarian.

The universe was fucked up. And he felt like he might be to blame.

"Sir, about what happened with the Beacon…" Ashley started. Anderson held up a hand to stop her, which it did.

"What happened with the Prothean Beacon stays between the few of us, for now. Nihlus knows, Jon'Shepard knows, and you know, Chief Williams." He said, casting a short glance at the closed door. Thomas knew it led to the mess hall, even if he couldn't see it; "Private Fisher, I'm going to give you the short version, on the condition that you keep it to yourself. Aside from Dawson's second in command, no one are to know what happened. Am I clear?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good." The Captain ran a hand across his short-cropped, dark head; "Nihlus Kryik, Jon'Shepard and Chief Ashley Williams fought their way through the Geth and encountered the Prothean Beacon. Due to…unforeseen circumstances, Shepard somehow activated the Beacon. Normally, direct contact with Prothean Beacons can leave the subject a vegetable. Somehow, _he_ survived with his mind intact."

"I read somewhere that Beacons imprint people with data, somehow…" Thomas looked between the two of them; "…did that actually happen to him?"

"That's a new one." Anderson huffed, though he did not sound like he immediately dismissed it; "it _could_ explain Chakwas' report on Shepard's brainwaves. I'll have a talk with him when we're done here."

"…Sir?"

"Yes, Fisher?" Thomas tried not to react when Anderson called him by name. It felt extremely unreal.

"What's…going to happen? Now, I mean, with Saren and everything and us?" he didn't want to verbally acknowledge the lack of a leg. Not if he could help it.

Anderson straightened his back, hands flat on his knees.

"First, we're going to the Citadel. The Council will be informed of Saren's actions, and he will be stripped of his Spectre status. Then, someone will go after him, bring him back and put him on trial." The Captain sounded like it was a rehearsed statement rather than the actual truth, though Thomas knew better than to dig in it when a superior officer called a case closed; "Eventually repairs will be made, likely by the Citadel, since Saren's a Spectre."

"I hope so, Sir."

"…how's the leg, son?" somehow, 'son' didn't sound at all patronizing when it came from Anderson. The man probably had experience dealing with traumatized marines his age. _Traumatized marines…I belong there now, don't I?_

Thomas just looked down at his stump. He brought his hands underneath the covers so Anderson wouldn't see him clench them white.

"…missing, Sir."

Anderson looked like he wanted to laugh, but at the same time knew it would be extremely unprofessional and inconsiderate, so he simply huffed;

"Yes…yes, it does seem like that." The Captain mused; "How does it feel?"

"…Stings a bit, Sir." It was probably the antiseptics. He could definitely _smell_ them.

"I suppose it would, wouldn't it?" Anderson seemed to be examining the stump. It made Thomas feel more self-conscious, but ultimately he knew the man was just trying to make it seem less catastrophic. He even realized that he knew what the Captain was going to say next; "That's quite the wound."

"…Beauty, isn't it?"

"…that's…" Ashley was confused.

"Any idea how it happened?" Anderson continued, just a streak of amusement at his eyes.

"…Sir?" Ashley started, both looking and sounding like she couldn't believe her ears. In truth, Thomas couldn't quite believe his own, either, but for a probably different reason.

"None whatsoever, complete mystery to me." Thomas quipped, feeling just a little bit of good mood returning. From the look on the Captain's face, they both knew what was going on. Anderson was good at this; "I woke up just now, one sock too many."

"Huh…been at wars, have we?"

"…Yes." It wasn't nearly as funny when it wasn't on a screen, though. Anderson nodded, examining the stump again. This time, Thomas didn't feel as self-conscious as before.

"Yes, yes…yes, yes, yes…Yes, well, this is nothing to worry about." The man said; "Keep warm, plenty of rest, and if you play soccer, try and favor the other leg."

"…What _are_ you talking about?" Ashley halfway demanded.

"So…it'll just…grow out again, will it?" Thomas had to finish. He knew it was unprofessional, irritated Ashley and no-doubt stole the Captain's valuable time. Then again, how often did one find out an Alliance Captain could recite Monty Python?

Anderson's face grew serious, and Thomas knew the "jokes" were over.

"The Alliance takes care of its own, Private. Chakwas informed me that you were to be given a temporary prosthesis until she could requisition a proper bionic limb." Anderson said, resting his chin on the top of his folded hands; "Seeing how replacement-limbs have a near-zero percent risk of impairing your mobility, and considering your personal involvement in Eden Prime's attack, I'd like to offer both of you a place on the Normandy."

Thomas nearly fell from the bed, only stopped from doing so by Ashley's hands grabbing his shoulders. Both stared at Anderson, unable to believe what he had said, but for different reasons. Ashley, likely because she had never seen it coming, and Thomas because he hadn't considered himself anywhere good enough to be a candidate.

"Sir?"

"Both of you have respectable service-records," except Thomas' was forged; "- training and a score to settle. As I understand it, the 212th was more or less wiped out, otherwise leaving you stranded until the Alliance would find something else. I recently lost three good marines on your planet, so I'm offering to be that 'something else'."

"Njord's balls, is this…Sir, do you mean it?"

"I do. The offer does however mean that your stations will have to be reprocessed from garrison standard to navy marine detail. So your pay will not be as high. It's the best I can offer."

"Yes." Thomas declared, sitting as straight as he could; "Sir, Captain Anderson, _nothing_ would be a greater honor than to serve on the Normandy."

"Glad to hear it. Chief Williams?"

"Yes Sir. Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams reporting for duty." Thomas could feel just a little bit of a smile creeping over his face at that. Ashley's voice held determination and a thirst for vengeance. He hoped his own was similar.

"Welcome onboard then, Chief Williams, Private Fisher." The Captain stood; "I'll have a talk with Shepard in the meantime. The Normandy operates on a skeleton crew, so there should be a few bunks to choose from in the crew-quarters. Food and equipment will be covered, pay extends to your shore leaves and I'll see to it that your Omnitools get the necessary documents addressed."

Then he left, leaving Thomas and Ashley alone in the medbay, with only the unconscious Hillary on a bed at the opposite wall.

And Ashley slumped. Thomas turned, more concerned than surprised at that. He would have been surprised if she had just handled everything as well as she had in the game, but he wasn't sure if this was better or worse.

"Chief, are you okay?"

"…coming from the guy missing a leg."

"Just worried…you seemed…" he trailed off when she sighed;

"Yes, I'm just fine. It's just…." She sighed, and then looked at him. "I don't know... I just, I feel like I wasted too much time when we stopped to check Bravo's corpses… If we hadn't, maybe more would have survived, maybe… I just didn't want to really see it. I even blamed a scared dockworker, an _unarmed_ _civilian_ that he hadn't fought back. How? I was so eager to tell myself that this wasn't my fault, but I still feel like it was. And yet, I was ready to blame it all on the first person I saw. I almost blamed Shepard for the entire attack, simply because he was there, and didn't manage to save everyone… even when an entire garrison of soldiers couldn't." She looked at Thomas in a way he'd never seen on her face before. It was a look of complete regret, of guilt, shame and sorrow.

She must have known a lot of the people living on Eden Prime. And to see them massacred, or turned into husks? The thought was nauseating. "And then, we had to fall back, and our team started _dying_ , and… we just _left_ Bolin and Jim."

"…Chief"

"And when the rocket came at us, you didn't even care about your own safety. Hillary was unconscious, I was hurt and couldn't keep fighting, but you could have dropped me and gone back down the hill."

The missing leg would have made that one more than a little problematic. Thomas wasn't going to bring up that point, however, because he was fairly sure Ashley was well aware of it. She was just trying to find ways they could have saved the others.

She was trying to find ways in which she had failed.

"Ashley…" she was taking this hard, harder than she had let anyone see until now. Or, maybe she had only hidden it from the others while he'd been awake. Thomas was tired, and honestly felt more than anything like simply going to sleep. But he also knew that Ashley needed someone to tell her that she was wrong.

"I could only watch as the only person besides Hillary whom I _knew_ had survived the attack… got himself blown up. Just to protect us." He had a feeling that if he didn't stop her soon, she was going to work herself into tears. Thomas didn't know what by Hel was going on, with foreign emotions shooting through him, the anger, the fear, the need to help and comfort this woman, even if she was superior to him in all ways… he didn't know what it was.

"Ashley- _Chief_ , listen to me."

She stopped, and looked at him. This was when Thomas realized two things. One: he was holding her by the shoulders, in a manner _no_ military would condone, and two: he had no idea what to say now.

The silence stretched on for almost half a minute, each looking awkwardly at the other, then averting their eyes. It was almost an unspoken agreement until he came up with something;

"Listen…I can't exactly claim that this wasn't the first time I've ever been in a real combat situation, but if there is _one_ thing I know, it is that if it hadn't been for you, _I_ wouldn't be sitting here right now. _I_ didn't save you and Hillary, _you_ did, when you kept a cool head and gave orders even after finding Bravo." Despite his awkwardness and the lingering shock of being crippled yet again, Thomas allowed himself a short chuckle, smiling with his teeth; "Anyone else would have shit their pants and stayed away from the colony."

"And they'd still be alive if we'd done that…" she looked at his hands, though he couldn't from her expression gauge if she wanted them to stay there or let go.

"Maybe…or maybe the Geth would have scoured the hills until they'd killed everything in a ten mile radius of the colony." He let go of her, letting his hands dangle uselessly, then opted for simply resting them on his thighs; "Point is, your first move was to ensure the safety of the colony. Training doesn't make you do that, _character_ and determination makes you do that…and I probably sound really stupid right now, but…Shit, Chief, we'd all be dead if it wasn't for you. I just got you from A to Z, that's all."

"…you should've been a shrink." She grumbled, followed by a short pause in which she simply opted to punch him in the shoulder. Thomas winced, but didn't say anything; he figured she might have something else on her mind. There was, but she was clearly reluctant to say it; "I…don't agree, that I couldn't have done more, but…Thanks, for trying. I appreciate it."

Then she hugged him. It was short, light and more just touching shoulders than an actual embrace, but still, it left Thomas stunned. Even when Ashley leant back, his face was flush-red, and his missing foot phantom-curled in agitation along with its counterpart.

"Well…ehm…" he stammered, blinking at the unexpected action. Ashley just stood from where she had briefly dumped herself on his sickbed.

"I'm going to grab some coffee, if there's a machine nearby." She said, turned and started leaving. She stopped by the door, though, and looked back. Thomas hadn't taken his eyes off her for even a second; "I'll grab you a cup too, you know, if you stop staring at me like that."

"I…didn't mean to stare. Sorry."

"It's fine. At least it's _positive_ attention…I'll see if I can find out when we're at the Citadel." She said, smiled and then left before he could reply.

Alone in the medbay – except for Hillary, but being unconscious, could she be counted as company? – Thomas rested back against the bed's railing. He was _tired_ , so very deeply _tired_. He'd lost a lot of blood, most likely, when his leg had been torn apart, and the iv-drop could only refill him so fast.

He could still feel where Ashley had hugged him, regardless of how light it had been. His skin seemed to be imprinted with the sensation, and closing his eyes, he could imagine her doing it again. It sent tingling buzzes down his spine – he was very much happy to not have broken thát – and down his arms and leg. His five remaining toes curled on their own, and everything kind of tickled, just a little. He sighed, smiling despite himself. _Damn…I didn't see that coming…_

* * *

He found out he'd fallen asleep when consciousness suddenly returned, and Chakwas was back at her desk, a cup of coffee was next to his bed on a self-heating plate of some sort, and the iv-drop in his arm had been changed with a new, fuller one.

Also there was a newcomer in the medbay, one who didn't seem like he needed medical attention. Dressed in a body-suit – so clearly fresh out of his armor – and asleep on the bed between his own and Hillary's, it took Thomas a lot of squinting to recognize Kaidan Alenko in the dimmed light of the medbay. _Why is he in here?_

Somehow, Chakwas knew Thomas was awake before he'd even made a sound. She'd turned in her chair before he'd even had a chance to open his mouth.

"Ah, you're awake." She seemed like it was more a question than a statement. When she followed his eyes to Kaidan, her smile became something closer to a frown; "Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko; he'll be your direct superior below the Captain."

"Is he…hurt?"

"I suppose you could call it that." Chakwas nodded as she stood and activated her Omnitool. She hovered it briefly above the unconscious – was he sleeping or just sedated? – lieutenant. When the data returned to her, she closed it down and nodded again; "Alenko is a LX3 biotic, which unfortunately puts him in the group of human biotics prone to severe migraines. Someone thought it was a good idea back then to just buy implants from the Asari without even running basic checks."

"Is it really bad?" he wasn't sure what else to ask. Biotics had never been a subject he'd focused much on, and he hadn't taken the time to read up on it while planetside; "He'll be fine again, right?"

"Oh yes, it's just a trivial matter of administering a fresh dose of his medicine." Chakwas had apparently done just that, somehow, when she had hovered the tool over the sleeping man; "It does, however, mean that humanity's biotic program is a few steps behind, mainly because of the implants. I think there's an update coming out sometime next year, the LX…4? Hopefully that will mean he can get a new implant, and we won't have to spend hours each week in the medbay."

"Right…" he sighed with no small amount of relief; "Glad I'm not a biotic then…my life's already one massive headache."

The last part was directed more at his missing leg than the doctor. Chakwas nodded, hummed and stood. There was a crate of some sort next to her, marked with 'fragile', 'this way up' and 'environmentally hurtful'. He wasn't completely sure about the last one.

"I had the armory make you a prosthesis while we're waiting for the actual model, by the way." When she opened the crate, something strongly resembling automail – of all things – came to view; "It's nowhere near sensitive enough for regular use, and will likely encumber your walk quite a bit, but it's better than a crutch or a wooden leg, wouldn't you say?"

"How…does it work?" he muttered with quite a bit of trepidation. Chakwas seemed to find something amusing, though she did not seem willing to reveal what.

"Let's put it on you first, then I'll show you."

* * *

Thomas – with some difficulty – found his way to the crew quarters about half an hour later. It was located on a floor he didn't remember from the first Normandy, between the Gallery and the Hangar, meaning there was an entire new deck he had never seen in the game. _Lazy programming, probably…_

Each second step he took gave off a metallic _thud_ , only mostly muffled by the shoe Chakwas had helped him put on it. Though the initial connection had been painful when the nerves came in touch with the wiring of the metallic prosthesis, it helped when the doctor had applied some painkillers.

Still, it felt _wrong_ to have something else there in place of his left foot. Automail or whatever they wanted to call it, this was metal, not flesh. No matter how advanced materials became, they couldn't make up for the sensitive skin they had replaced.

" _Alright ladies and gentlemen, kids and adults of all ages: We're on course for the Serpent Relay, estimated time of arrival is three hours, whereafter we'll spend about ten minutes in-transit, and twenty minutes from the Relay to the Citadel. As always we ask that you follow the instructions of the stewardesses and refrain from kicking the seat in front of you._ "

Thomas stopped at the door to the crew quarters, at first expecting to see Seth Green behind him. He squashed the notion almost instantly, remembering whom the voice _really_ belonged to. Joker was as casual as he remembered him, if this was anything to go by.

Good. It would be nice with at least _one_ optimist on the ship.

"Ah, Fisher." The double-flanged voice was easier again to recognize. Thomas turned to see Nihlus watching him, having apparently just left the elevator; "I see the doctor replaced your leg."

"Kryik." If Nihlus was on a second-name base with him, he assumed the same was expected in return. To indicate the error of what the Turian had said, he shifted to rest on his _own_ leg; "You can't really call a metal prosthesis a 'replacement', if you don't mind me saying so."

"Hmm, true." The Turian walked closer, and Thomas realized just how tall the alien was. Turians _were_ taller than humans, that much was clear; "I wanted to request that you and Chief Williams are present when we meet with the Council."

"But we only saw Geth, and I didn't know Saren was on the colony until one of my team-mates mentioned it during the attack." The real reason was that he didn't want to spend any time whatsoever with the Councilors. He remembered them as being arrogant, stubborn and so set in their ways and beliefs that Sovereign linking itself to the tower hadn't convinced them at all. They were politicians, and he didn't much like politicians.

"Be that as it may, you are one of three surviving witnesses of the garrison, making you key-witnesses by virtue alone." His mandibles spread out just a little, and Thomas had no idea what it meant; "Even if you do not actually have to speak up, it would be best if the Council had access to all the witnesses available."

"…will it make them more inclined to lock Saren up?"

He honestly didn't believe that it would.

"My testimony and that of Williams' alone should be enough to have him found guilty." Nihlus said, a sense of regret and shame coloring his words; "Still, the more information, the better a perspective the Council will have on how to deal with this."

"I will do whatever I can to help."

"Good to hear it." the Turian nodded; "Now then, if you will excuse me, I need to find the Captain."

* * *

The new deck held more than just the crew quarters. It also held a brig, showers and a gym.

The gym was a sizable portion of the deck, with windows offering views at the drive-core powering the ship. The core was a massive beast of advanced science, and even those who had served on the ship since it was built sometimes stopped to admire the view. The gym itself, though, was mainly a flat area with hard-rubber floor and a few sets of equipment set up for general use. Everything heavy was bolted to the floor, with the exception of the hand-weights, all of which were currently fastened to a stand at the wall. Several mats of softer materials were set up in the middle, being either stretching- or sparring mats.

This was, unsurprisingly, where he found Ashley.

"Fisher." She greeted him roughly, though he wasn't surprised at that. She was in her underarmor uniform, which hugged her form tighter than a regular model would. It was really closer to a regular bodyglove than a set of clothes, which he pointedly refrained from pointing out.

She was also doing one-handed pushups without pause; "How's the leg?"

He briefly looked at hers, which was marked by a patched hole in the uniform's right thigh. She seemed to favor the other leg, which was no great surprise.

"Feels a bit weird…" he admitted, taking a seat on the floor next to her. When he felt that might be seen as a little weird too, he decided to start doing crunches. Those were exercises he could actually keep up while conversing; "How's yours?"

"Stiff. So. You've talked to Kryik?" her forehead was already covered in sweat, but her hair was still bundled impeccably behind her head. Thomas counted up to ten crunches before he took in a breath of air and nodded;

"Mm. He asked me to join the hearing against Saren." Gods, he was out of shape; "Said it would help the Council decide."

"Don't count on it." her reply was hard, yet not affected by her effort; "Council's always looking out for their own first. Human's are newcomers, we're seen as arrogant. brash. demanding. ignorant. Salarians try stealing secrets. Turians. Mostly. Despise us, after the First Contact War. The Asari just see us as a _lesser_ race."

"Maybe you should use both arms?" he tried, receiving only a flat stare; "Never mind. Still, sounds a lot like how the United Nations used to run."

"Figured you to be a historian alright." It didn't sound like teasing, so he took it for what it was and just nodded; "Well, yeah, permanent board and all. Volus' been trying to – get on the Council for the past. Two-hundred years."

They kept up the exercise for another ten minutes. When Ashley shifted to two arms, Thomas knew she was just about done too. Because he definitely was. His stomach was giving him grief, and he hadn't actually eaten since breakfast in the garrison, however many hours ago that was now.

When done, Ashley swung herself up, using her hands as propellant. Thomas stared as she did so, unable to believe the strength in those arms of hers. They were muscular, yeah, but not _that_ muscular. _Probably genetic modifications._

He remembered that all Alliance soldier received them, but hadn't seen anywhere if the same was true for Union troops. He supposed it was something he should probably get checked up on, seeing as he was supposedly one himself.

"Hey, Chief?" he asked, struggling to get up. His new leg wasn't exactly helping. Ashley watched him in mild bemusement for a moment, then grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet; "Thanks. So…have you ever met others from the Scandinavian Union? Soldiers, I mean."

"A few, yeah…" she nodded and began walking, not turning to wait for him. Thomas cursed under his breath and jogged after her. At least the leg was made for basic movements, so he caught up easily; "Why?"

"Just wondered." He muttered, realizing that he didn't know enough about his "own" faction to inquire her on her knowledge. Still, there _was_ one thing he could ask about; "I mean, was there ever any, uh, disagreements, like over religious matters?"

"You're asking whether or not I called them heathens?" she gave him a sharp, examining look. He hadn't meant _that_ , and she seemed to realize that, her eyes returning to friendly once more; "But no, there never really was anything. They didn't make trouble for us, and I didn't make trouble for them. You guys don't exactly have a history of being religiously…fundamentalistic."

"Right, we're not really into the whole 'death to all non-believers' thing." He chuckled, then wanted to bite off his own tongue. Dammit, why hadn't he thought that one over before he said it?! "I mean, we've done our share of shit too, like with the Vikings."

"Assuming you're talking about the old-fashioned ones, yeah true, but that was fifteen-hundred years ago." She continued before he could ask what she meant by 'old-fashioned'. He could look that up later, he decided; "Christians still do that shit to this day."

"I thought Christians were peaceful since, you know, the Renascence and all?" he asked in surprise. Ashley looked at him oddly for a moment, then sighed; "What?"

"I guess you're not _that_ much into history then."

* * *

SSV Normandy, CIC

Cockpit

14:31

"That…is a lot bigger than the vids showed" Jon muttered from his place in the cockpit. Thomas could only agree, seeing the mammoth of a warship drift by. The Destiny Ascension was… it was _unfathomably_ _big_ , looking more like a floating… city, really, but… it was like a giant, graceful creature of the stellar seas, swimming through the void without making a single movement. The middle of it was penetrated by a large, gaping hole, like a mouth. He had no idea as to its function, but… it was a beautiful sight.

In a way, it looked like a whale.

"The Destiny Ascension. Flagship of the Citadel Fleet." Kaidan had joined them in the cockpit without Thomas having noticed it. The lieutenant had introduced himself earlier, in the mess hall, and Thomas had decided that he liked the guy. Maybe it had just been his base knowledge of the Canadian that had made the first impression better, but Kaidan truly seemed to be a great guy, even if he seemed to have a little difficulty with smalltalk.

"Well, size _isn't_ everything" Joker said, leaning back from his seat to give the rest of them a sideway glance. His stern stare lasted for all of a second, then broke down with a shrug; "Meh, you're probably all just overcompensating somehow."

"Why so touchy Joker?" Ashley asked, adding her voice to the crowd of gazers standing in the cockpit, exploiting the grand view offered by the wide "windows". In truth, they were simply millions of projectors relaying the feed from an equally insane amount of exterior sensors. It was the same effect, basically, but the technology was so far beyond what Thomas had ever seen before.

"I'm just saying, you need firepower too." The crippled pilot retorted, earning a smirk from Thomas, considering the fact that the Asari dreadnought looked big enough to tackle a Star Destroyer.

"Hah, its main gun can rip through any ship in the Alliance fleet" Jon commented, almost with a snarky voice as he glanced at the pilot.

"Yeah, no. I'm guessing you've never seen the Caucasus?" Joker mused as his fingers danced acros the haptics; "That, now _that_ , is a ship I would put my money on. Just saying."

"What's the Caucasus?" Thomas asked, never taking his eyes off the gigantic Asari ship _._

"Just the most heavily armored dreadnought ever built by human hand." Joker grinned, readjusting his cap; "It's part of the 6th fleet, and the flagship of Admiral Oleg Petrovsky. Want something pummeled, he's your man."

"You've never heard of him?" Kaidan gave Thomas a surprised look. To which he just shrugged;

"Can't say Alliance leadership ever interested me that much." The Dane said, returning his attention to the hundreds and hundreds of vessels zipping past with the speed of propelled bullets. Ashley looked at him curiously at his comment, though he couldn't figure out if he should ask why. Instead, he turned his attention back to Joker; "Where are we landing?"

" _Docking_ " Jeff emphasized the word.

Thomas gave the pilot an annoyed look; "Right, _docking_ , if you insist."

"Hey, it's not my fault you Union-people never took to space."

 _"Nidhogg"_ Thomas stated, remembering _that_ one from what he had been reading. Joker's expression turned sour, prompting a grin.

"Yeah well, _designed_ isn't the same as built or piloted by."

"Whatever you say."

Joker returned his attention to the instruments and opened communications with the Citadel. And by the Gods, the station was huge. Thomas was looking down the arms from their vantage point in the nebular, and he couldn't even make out more than a thin silhouette of a ring at the other end.

This wasn't a station… it was a gods-be-damned space-city! _Everything_ he had seen so far was dwarfed by this one sight. It was immense, awestriking and breathtaking. Literally, as the air caught in his throat when he gazed upon it.

"Citadel Control, This is the Alliance SSV Normandy requesting permission to land."

"Hah." Thomas muttered.

"Ssshchh." Joker hushed him, though nothing could kill the grin on the Dane's face. The sight before them had robbed him of grief, if only temporarily, and Joker's reaction was funny enough that he just couldn't help it.

"Stand by for clearance, Normandy…" A voice with authority said over the comm. system; "Clearance granted. You may begin your approach. Transferring you to an Alliance Operator."

"Roger that, Normandy out." Joker ended the transmission with the Asari in the control tower.

"Normandy, this is Alliance Tower, proceed to dock 422." The voice over the comms said. Thomas sighed, trying to take in some air to help dissipate the excitement and anxiousness filling him. The Normandy obeyed instructions, and he could see the docks coming closer and closer. In a weird way, it reminded him of docking an actual boat, steering for the right moor.

This was just infinitely more vast.

"Here we go…"

* * *

Codex Entry: Kalmar Union GFIC – Ground Forces International Contribution

While by some ridiculed for never truly having embraced space-exploration and travel as most of the human race so fervently did, the Kalmar Union never viewed this as a slight on their part: Their citizens are free to go into space and or serve on any Alliance vessels of their choosing.

Another reason is that the majority of the Union's military spending goes towards the GFIC-project in collaboration with the EFEC. Union troops are highly sought for urban warfare trainers as well as experts in winter-style guerilla warfare, and their wet-navy warships patrol the straits of trade across the globe, including the infamous, pirate-infested Suez.

With a population of just above twenty million, however, the Union is at a disadvantage when it comes to numbers.

As such, Swedish Arms in 2060 began production of the first true direct combat drone, the Fenrir, a four-legged automaton weighing at 15 ton, measuring seven meters from front to rear and armed with a pair of 12mm rotating autocannons, six rocket-launchers and thermal vision. It can be controlled both remotely and directly by a single pilot, where highly advanced gyroscopes negate the effect of the machine's gait.

The Fenrir is to date the most prominent counter to the aged conclusion that walking machines are less effective and more vulnerable than wheeled versions.

An unexpected side-product of the Fenrir-project was the advancement of bionic limbs, when Union Armor produced a replacement-arm for Kaliningrad-veteran SSgt, Kristofer Torsson. The arm was fully integrated with Torsson's nerves, allowing him full, if slowed, use of his new right arm.

The Fenrir-project was, due to its immense success, followed up by several other projects, all sharing the trait of bipedal, quadrupedal or hexapedal transportation. Mechs developed by Swedish Arms, with subcontractors in Norwegian Motors and Danish Panser, are currently in use across Europe, the Americas and Asia, as well as on international missions in the Africans. They are also a common sight on Alliance worlds, and Huginn-drones are frequently used by Alliance recon forces, due to their speed, optics and low detectability.


	5. TSITD

**Alright, this chapter _hurt_ to rewrite. The pacing, the thoughts, the indifference towards potential death...not to mention letting a stranger operate on a patient he might just have been the one to shoot...never mind, just see if this version isn't better.**

 **Oh yeah, and, uh...Loooooong chapter ahead.**

 **Enjoy :)**

* * *

 **Serpent in the Dark**

* * *

Citadel, Serpent Nebula

Huerta Memorial Hospital, the Presidium

13:21

"So… will she…" Gunnery Chief Williams hesitated, not wanting to finish the sentence for fear that it would invoke the death of her subordinate. Well, _former_ subordinate, seeing as Ashley was now in the navy marines, and Hillary had yet to be redeployed from garrison to navy operations. So, technically, the private was her own superior for the time being, until she woke up at least.

Despite knowing that Thomas had not only survived, but been redeployed to the same post as herself, Ashley couldn't escape the feeling that she was looking at the only other surviving member of Dog Squad, of the 212th. Hillary was stripped down to an easy-access set of clothing, form-fitting dark clothes covering her more private areas in a non-descriptive, leaving one without even wanting to start imagining, as if the seriousness of the clothing waned off invading eyes. The lower section of her chest, despite the shot having hit from behind, was already showing signs of damage, though nowhere near the grizzly sight her back had been when the armor was removed.

It might be because she had known Hillary for almost two years, or simply because Fisher was so new to the team, he had hardly been made a fully invoked member when Saren turned traitor, that she thought of Hillary in this way. _Or I might just be in denial…shit._

To think… for once, her prejudice about a Turian was correct. She had even met the man, and now regretted not having acted on her feelings back then, and shot him in the head. If she could, she would go back in time and plant a slug right between his eyes.

"Don't worry; she'll make a full motoric recovery. As for the psychological impact this is going to cause, we're not sure what her reaction will be…" the Salarian doctor said, his three fingers rubbing at his chin. Salarians never seemed to give a straight answer, no matter the question. Or, maybe, she just didn't want to accept his words.

"Motoric?" Ashley asked, not liking the sound of it. Suffering from PTSD would still leave room for 'full motoric recovery'. That was not equal with an actual recovery. But apparently PTSD was only recognized by human militaries, meaning the Salarians wouldn't understand it anyway.

"Well…" the amphibian blinked as he stared down at the datapad; "…a large section of her skin, muscles and underlying nerves were either damaged or completely destroyed. We haven't seen this kind of injuries before, so we're not sure what the implications might be. I take it you are colleagues?" the Salarian said.

Ashley looked down for a moment, picking her words. Hillary was her primary concern right now, as Thomas had been cleared for a military-grade replacement-leg under the Alliance regulations. He was getting it fitted somewhere else in Huerta right now, so it was just her here.

"I'm her superior officer." She ended up saying.

"Ah, so you know her professionally or on a familiar basis?" The doctor pressed, earning himself a flat look. Ashley sighed and averted her eyes, realizing that different mindset as Salarians might have, this man was still a doctor, and cared for his patients.

"…Both, I suppose." She muttered, not really sharing the enthusiasm of the amphibian; "…Why?"

"At some point, she's going to wake up, of course. With everything that's happened with her, she might want a familiar face around initially" the Salarian explained professionally; "It's perfectly normal for patients to experience some…instability, after recovering from comas. Familiar faces are a good way to deter negative outcomes, if you will."

"Then… thank you doctor" she groaned inwardly, but kept up a straight face. No reason to give the doctor shit for doing his job; "Please, contact me with any updates or anything at all."

"Of course." He nodded. The doctor had the standard Alliance contacts for information, but she had also given him her personal contact information, just in case; "I wish you a good day, Ma'am."

She remained silent until she reached the lobby. Out there, sitting straight as one could be on the benches, Thomas Fisher was looking intently at her approach. He was wearing standard-issued leggings, meaning his new leg wasn't actually visible. Still, he didn't get up, something she didn't fail to connect to the prosthesis.

"H-how did it go?" he made a move to stand, but she instead just dumped herself in the bench. No reason for him to strain the new nerve-connections anyway. Prostheses had come a long way since their real start in the 2060's, where nerves could finally be fully integrated with the synthetic muscles, but there was still some cool-down. She didn't know how long.

"She'll make it." she said, then paused at his expression. He didn't look like he fully believed her, maybe thought she was just telling him what he wanted to hear; "The doctors say she'll make it."

"Njord's balls…" Thomas slumped back against the bench, closing his eyes. Ashley didn't bother reprimanding him from swearing in the presence of children, instead just raising a brow; "So…what now?"

"Depends…how's the new leg?" she made a point of letting him look at it before even moving her eyes downwards.

"…feels…I dunno…weird. Wrong, sort of…But it's better than what Chakwas gave me, that's for certain." He muttered as he pulled up the left legging. What was beneath _looked_ like a real leg, but there were differences that revealed it to be synthetic skin over synthetic muscle. For one, it was a distinctly beige color while Thomas' skin tone was more pale. Eden Prime's atmosphere didn't let as much radiation in as Earth's; "Not that I'm saying anything bad about her, you know, just that this feels…easier to move with, right?"

"So, you can walk? Tried yet?"

He stood instead of immediately replying. Though he clearly leaned more on his right leg than the left, he didn't seem to have incapacitating trouble. Thank God.

"Don't know what kind of science's in this, but…I can sort of feel my toes. Heel's still off, but…" he bent down and shoved the clothes back over his new leg; "…Yeah, I can walk."

* * *

The Citadel, Serpent Nebula

Presidium, Office of Ambassador Donnel Udina

14:07

"THIS IS A FUCKING _OUTRAGE_!" Udina screamed, his face contorted into anger the likes of which Thomas had rarely seen. Odd, that the man he had always hated and trolled in the second game was the one delivering the verbal beating to the Councilors. Speaking of Surt and his ilk, the three aliens were represented by their holograms, sharing looks before looking at Udina; "THE COUNCIL WOULD STEP IN IF _WE_ ATTACKED A TURIAN COLONY!"

"Are you suggesting the Hierarchy is behind this attack?" Sparatus growled. Thomas, from where he stood, tried his best not to pay overtly much attention to the meeting. He knew how it would play out, even if Shepard was a Dextro-based alien this time around. Also, considering how far into the future this was, he found himself disappointed that the holographic quality of their images was less than impressive; "Or the Council?"

"Spectres obey the Council, do they not?!" Udina argued, forcing his voice down. Still, the strain was evident in his tone, and Thomas could see the man holding a rapidly clenching hand behind his back; "Eyewitnesses tie your Spectre Arterius to the scene, I _demand_ you arrest him!"

"You don't get to make demands of the Council, Ambassador." Sparatus shot back, turning his head to regard Nihlus Kryik in almost the same sentence. Thomas followed, watching the _good_ Turian Spectre as emotions played across his face…plate…thing; "Spectre Kryik, your report indicated your belief in Saren's guilt."

"He did have me at gunpoint" Nihlus sounded like he was giving his councilor snark. It was probably closer to him being frustrated, though.

"…I see." The Turian Councilor sighed, looking to his colleagues; "Still, we cannot decide anything here and now. For all we know, somehow, this is more than it seems."

"You _doubt_ my words, Councilor?"

"Eden Prime was no-doubt a catastrophe." Tevos entered the conversation; "Events might have taken place that impacted your sense of judgement. Saren is, after all, a top Spectre. There would be no reason for him to attempt taking your life."

"Not to mention that the Geth would never follow an organic." The Salarian Councilor – Thomas couldn't remember his name – added; "If they could be made to do so, they would likely never have rebelled against the Quarians in the first place."

"That doesn't make it _impossible_ , damn it." Udina growled; "for all we know he hacked the damn things, we know _that_ can be done!"

"Be that as it may, Citadel Security is currently investigating your claims." The Asari said, turning the subject around; "Whether or not Saren truly is guilty of leading the raid on your colony, or if something entirely else was going on, will be established when all evidence has been gathered."

Thomas, leaning back against the railing on the balcony, glanced at Ashley. She was pointedly _not_ looking at the councilors.

"Are those guys _serious_?" he whispered, hoping she could tell him that the meeting somehow made more sense than he could get from it.

"Told you they'd fucking deny it all." She ground out. Thomas, not knowing what else to do or say to that, just nodded and looked back at the holograms. Anderson was taking something of a backseat, allowing Udina and Nihlus to lead the charge.

In the end though, nothing seemed to come of it. The Council remained adamant that regardless of the overwhelming evidence provided by helmet-cams and Nihlus' testimony, Saren would be given a fair and square trial, which meant C-Sec needed time to gather evidence about him _. Un-fucking-believable..._

He'd actually assumed the rampant idiocy of the Councilors was just something for the sake of plot in the game, that there was no way in Hel they could be so stupid in real life. And yet, here he was, listening to them brushing off charges and accusations from not just Udina, but their own Spectre.

Apparently the old saying was true: Fiction had to make sense, reality didn't.

When the meeting adjourned, complete with the request that they all attended a formal hearing, Udina remained standing where he was, glaring holes in the wall where the holograms had been. Thomas was pretty glad he wasn't the one having to initiate a conversation with the man, seeing how he would probably get his face ripped off.

"So…" Anderson stepped up; "We're a step closer, I assume?"

"Closer or not, they still refused clear evidence." Udina scowled at the room as if the ceiling had done him a personal wrong; "If Saren gets a chance to manipulate the Council, _if_ he even shows up, we're not going to have an easy time getting them on our side."

"I'm still surprised they just dismissed Nihlus' evidence." Kaidan Alenko said from where he was seated at one of the smaller tables. With Dawson's death, _he_ was now Anderson's second in command, meaning regardless of whether or not he'd actually been on Eden Prime, he was required to be here.

"Saren's one of the best, and most esteemed Spectres in our organization." Nihlus groaned, though he kept himself straight and seemingly unfazed. It was only his voice that betrayed his frustration; "Compared to him, I am still relatively new to the Spectres, thus my word counts for less than his in a straight-up match of credibility."

"That's…not a very sound system."

"It is, however, the way it works." Kryik replied; "Older Spectres are usually far more intimate with the workings of the laws, and how to circumvent them, while newer members often tend to retain a black-and-white viewpoint."

"Bullshit." Jon'Shepard grumbled, clenching his hands where he sat next to Kaidan. Nihlus glanced at him, looking like he wanted to shrug or nod, then simply looked back at the two highest-ranking humans in the room;

"As it is now, we can only hope C-Sec finds incriminating evidence."

"There's nothing _we_ can do?" Anderson demanded with thinly veiled anger; "What if C-Sec doesn't find anything? We can't just let Saren walk away from everything!"

"I have some contacts in the force." Nihlus said; "I'll contact them and see if something turns up. The Executor has always had misgivings about our organization, but someone who _isn't_ a Spectre, he wouldn't be initially hostile to… I think."

"It'll do for now, then." Udina muttered, changing his focus from the Spectre to the Quarian; "Shepard, if you can, please do not become openly involved in the investigation. We're going to be wading through enough shit without someone pulling Humanity's connections to the Migrant Fleet on us."

"…how would _that_ work?" the Quarian asked, sounding like he was glaring at the ambassador. Udina, to his unexpected credit, didn't snarl or growl. Instead, he just sighed and sat down.

"Shepard, your foster-mother is Admiral Shala'Raan, am I correct?" while no one else in the room seemed to react overtly surprised at that question, Thomas nearly found himself jumping over the balcony. He had _not_ expected thát.

"…How did you know that?" Jon demanded with a more uncertain tone. Great, maybe someone would actually explain now. Thomas might have no business knowing it, but damn it all if that wasn't the most unexpected revelation yet. Especially from a man so often labeled a racist.

"My predecessor left me assorted diplomatic documents as references. One of which attained to your…leaving the Fleet." Udina seemed to have it in for Thomas, because every sentence from that man threw him a fresh round. First of all, it didn't to him make sense that Udina, or his successor whomever that was, knew about details from the Migrant Fleet, it was also uncannily weird that the man actually seemed to _care_.

"Can we _not_ talk about that?" Jon muttered, looking away; "But yeah, I think I see what you mean. Politics and all…"

"Good, then we can get back to more important work." Udina sighed, this time with a bit more relief; "Anderson, would you mind coming with me?"

Anderson, with just a nod to the rest of them, turned and followed their ambassador into a side-room. Thomas, just like most of the others, didn't move or talk for a few seconds. Personally, he was trying to figure out what to do.

This was all so _different_. Mainly because it was actually _real_ , but also because things obviously had changed. Nihlus was alive, Shepard was a Quarian, the Normandy's commander had been killed, and he himself was a leg short.

Despite how it might look similar to his own, the new leg still felt as intrusive as poking oneself in the eyeball to put on a contact. Laser-surgery was by far the better option, even if it had been relatively new technology back then. The leg, however, was _not_ what he would call a better option. He told Ashley he was fine, that the leg was fine and worked, but in truth, he just wanted to have his own two feet on the floor.

When Anderson had left, the dismissal for the rest of them was unspoken, but clear nonetheless. Thomas decided that, with how everything had changed, he didn't trust himself with anything important. If he said or did something wrong, something new could change, and everything he knew could be blown even more out of proportions.

Which meant, he didn't trust himself to participate in the Council hearings.

"Err… Chief…?" he relaxed his expression as much as he could, though he doubted anyone would actually believe he _was_ calm. Still, if nothing else, the Danish Education System had – though not intentionally, probably – made him more accustomed to lying through his teeth than what was likely a good idea. And it still didn't mean he was _good_ at it.

"…Right, what?" Ashley seemed to have been in some sort of stupor. Her eyes were distant until she turned towards him and focused.

"You…okay?" she didn't _look_ okay, by all means. She looked haggard and worn down, tired and exhausted all at once. And a knot of concern tugged at his stomach.

"Sorry, just…tired." She muttered, rubbing her eyelids. Thomas really didn't want to give her more grief, and knew that he would be doing just that if someone asked him anything at the hearing. He'd never been good in crowds; "What is it?"

"…Since you _are_ my superior, and I _was_ kinda trashed out before we even knew of the Beacon… I was thinking if perhaps… you should go as a representative for both of us. I'll go if you want me to, but…I've never been any good with too much attention. If they ask me anything…And I didn't even _see_ Saren." He didn't mean to, but he was pretty sure that came out as a bit of a dick-move.

He wasn't even sure _what_ he could do that was better than attending the meeting, but he just _didn't want to do it_. There was so much he could ruin if anyone asked him _anything_ at it, he'd rather not run the risk at all.

"Okay, if you're sure… but wait, what would you be doing that could help more than the hearing?" She asked, cocking a brow at him. Seeing as he wasn't even sure himself, he didn't know how to answer that. Still, maybe she was right, and he could just avoid being asked… _Fuck it, maybe I can still find something after the hearing;_ "Since I know for sure you're not planning on something stupid like trying to see the Consort while we're here?"

Ouch. That stung.

"Fine, I'll come along and stand still… you know, like a statue." he muttered, placing his hands in his uniform-pockets; "And I _wasn't_ planning on seeing the Consort…she's also way too expensive for someone of my rank…and I'm not really into Asari."

"Good, because if it was only me…" Ashley sighed. She looked, for a moment, as if she was going to say something harsh, maybe something to reprimand him for even considering bailing on them. Then, her expression changed and she turned on a probably forced, yet wry smile, and faked a scared tone; "Oh, all alone in that huge tower, only human I know is nowhere to be found. What if the keepers attack me? Where will my dashing hero be to take one of their rockets for me?"

Thomas knew she was probably just saying it to take away some of the negative air – _hoped_ that was why – but even as she seemed to realize that she might have overstepped a line, he couldn't hold down a grimace. He had lost _a_ _leg_ , dammit.

And that sucked more every time he realized it.

 _And_ Ashley looked like she wanted to punch herself in the throat. Instead, she palmed her face and groaned, letting the hand remain long enough that it left a mark when she removed it, and weary eyes looked at him. There was no trace of humor in them now, just the lingering grief.

"Hey... Hey, Thomas, I'm… Sorry. Sorry about that, I didn't mean for you to relive…to think about that shit…" he wasn't used to this, to figure out how to accept apologies. Very few had ever actually apologized to him throughout his life, and usually that had only been to get over their own bad conscience. Ashley was different, on that one. She was obviously sincere and looked like she was feeling like shit.

As a consequence, so was he.

"…It's okay." He sighed, trying to meet her eyes but found that he couldn't; "…I survived, didn't I? And you and Hillary are both alive too, no?"

He gave her his best smile, but had the feeling it came out as more of a wry attempt at one. There really wasn't anything else he could say.

"I just…Shit, I'm so sorry."

"I…it's okay… Okay?" he really didn't know _how_ to make it understood, especially because he knew Ashley felt like it was her fault he had lost a leg. And then made a joke about it.

Yeah, in hindsight she really didn't seem possessed of great social skills either, so at least they had that in common, which was nice. Not. So, he tried something else, and just punched her shoulder; "If you're really feeling guilty, you could always buy me a drink later."

He had expected her to be angry, to hit him back or to – ideally – smile or grin at the joke. Instead, she seriously _nodded_ , and he had no idea what to do or say from there on out. _Shit- That…wasn't what I thought she would do._

" _You could always just pretend you never saw the nod?"_

There was starting to appear something of a pattern here. The Voice would always speak to him at the worst or most inconvenient times. Just like now. _I'll just let it rest that a girl actually just accepted buying me a drink instead._

Really, because he wasn't sure how to do anything else and not be a dick about it. And it was also potentially the first time someone had ever actually accepted when he'd asked them on a "date", even if it totally wasn't and he had just been joking and… _My life is a fuck-fest, isn't it?_

Thomas' mind was struggling with the concept of a beautiful woman buying him a drink, mainly because it would then be the first time _that_ had ever happened. Still, as an idea started forming in his mind, unconnected to the woman before him, he hoped maybe he could get away before the hearing started.

Speaking of the Jotunn, the Quarian with them stood, causing all idle talk to cease. Thomas watched him, trying to imagine what Shala'Raan would look like in real life, and why she had taken Jon in as a foster-son. Considering what he remembered of Raan and the other Quarians, there was a chance Jon actually might just know Tali.

Or maybe she had never existed either, like Jon's human counterpart. Still, that was not a thought he liked to entertain. He just couldn't imagine Tali not being out there somewhere, and wanted to at the very least look in places he knew she would come by sooner or later.

"Well, the meeting is not in an hour, so there's some spare time if you want to go have a look around." Jon said, though his tone betrayed the fact that he wasn't going to be doing sightseeing, and neither were the others, probably. Thomas didn't know if he was; "…Meet back here in 45 minutes, then we head to the hearing"

Strangely, Jon seemed to already be taking on something of a leader-role. Was it deliberate? Thomas wanted to roll his eyes at the oddity of it all, but refrained from it, instead just huffing a breath. _Well, at least I can still manage one place before the hearing…_

* * *

The Citadel, Serpent Nebula

Council Chambers.

14:28

"Hey Sparatus!" The older Turian was forced to turn around as the annoying voice reached his ear-canals, alerting him to the presence of the Human Admiral.

 _Spirits_ , why couldn't it be Hackett spending his free time on the Citadel? Hackett, he could accept and even respect… This woman though…she was a pestilence to all that was good and orderly.

"Admiral…"

He still greeted her curtly, looking at the human woman as she approached. He himself had just exited the private restrooms, getting ready for the session with the Alliance personnel. Spirits damn them all, this was making his kidney-stone hurt with stress… And now the infamous 'Neuter' Admiral had just jumped him the second he got his pants back up.

She had been waiting for him, that much was obvious. Turians couldn't do them, but he knew a "shit-eating grin" when he saw one.

"You busy? No? Good, because we need to talk before this hearing." She insisted, almost physically pushing him backwards.

That was another thing he didn't much like about her, this… _woman_. The daughter of Colonel Cologne, and the niece of Admiral Stephen Hackett, Anna Fisher was imposing, in the aspect that where the rest of the human admiralty tried pulling rank, she was known for irrational behavior, not to mention attempts at violence against Councilor Tevos.

That was one way they had found out the barriers could stop a bottle.

"Admiral Vestergaard, I _really_ can't see how this hearing is of your concern. It's a simple matter of clearing up a misunderstanding with some Alliance marines and an unstable Spectre-initiate believing Arterius to be involved in criminal activities." He grumbled, trying to stare her down. Not that he normally shared information of this kind, but the woman had a way of finding out anyway, and she was _always_ smug about it when she did.

Some days, he suspected her of being the Spirits-be-damned Shadow Broker. It was only because she'd never even _attempted_ to hide the fact that she had contacts all across the galaxy that she wasn't a suspect. From what Valern had let slip, _Jormungand_ – he assumed the term or word _meant_ something – was causing all sorts of trouble whenever the STG started interfering with Alliance Affairs. The name, however, was practically all that was ever known about the damn group.

But Sparatus suspected Fisher to be somehow connected to it...

"Yeah, see that's where _I_ disagree. Saren's always rubbed me the wrong way, and now the entire surviving garrison of Eden Prime nail him as the culprit of mass murder? It fits, is all I'm saying." She said, boasting and looking like her usual self. Which was somewhat disturbingly close to a human adolescent in expression.

"I'm willing to bet it is not…" he sighed, knowing it wasn't. Where was Security when you needed them?

"Damn straight it isn't! Listen, you know I don't like you much-" She started. Sparatus just sighed again, feeling the woman adding to his stress with each second. He was tempted to make it a point of thanking her for her honesty, but realized that would most likely just get her fired up.

Titans take her.

"Yes, you have made that abundantly clear with almost every conversation we have had…" He growled. She just held up a finger, like a child in school. _Spiriiiiiiiiiiiiits!_

"But, I _do_ prefer you to your colleagues, so I have a… _proposition_ for you." She continued, unperturbed by his words. Sparatus didn't dare hope for anything positive, considering her last "proposition" was currently locked away in the archives under ' .Open.'

"…Somehow I can't help but get a bad feeling whenever you propose something, Admiral…" was it truly a wonder why?

"Listen, I'm betting my shoes on Saren being guilty. And when-"

" _If_." Sparatus pressed down, letting it be clear he had faith in a Spectre of his own species. The problem with the situation was that he was forced to choose between a senior Spectre and a Spectre who had only just become a full-fledged member. Everything was made even _more_ complicated by the former being the latter's mentor.

" _When_ , he is found guilty, I doubt he's just going to turn himself in. So… Nihlus Kryik was on Eden Prime and was already on the Normandy when the mission went to shit. We have… _had_ a Commander, Simon Dawson of the Normandy, and we have a Quarian ready to serve as well." She said. Sparatus' face could not have been less of a question-marker, his mandibles spread in utter confusion.

"I take it back… I don't have a bad feeling, because I have _no idea_ what you are talking about." He grumbled, pressing his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them again, Anna Vestergaard was still staring at him, her mouth set in a smirk. He had almost hoped she would have gone away like a headache.

"Think about it. _If_ Saren is found guilty, and if he runs, the fleets can't track him down. So, we send the most advanced scout frigate in Council Space after him."

"…The Normandy?" what exactly was she planning? Normally he wanted _nothing_ to do with her schemes, but the Normandy was a joint-species project, so he wanted to know if she was going to send it off on some moronic ghost-hunt.

"On-the-button. Now, Nihlus is there already. Since Dawson was killed by the geth on Eden Prime, that leaves Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko as highest ranking human officer on the ship after Captain Anderson. Now, do you know there is a Quarian by the name of Jon'Shepard on the ship too? Or, well, he is on the Citadel right now, but still." She pressed. Always, always she was pressing.

Sparatus both hated and reluctantly respected that about her. Spirits, she was annoying and _intrusive_ , lacked all sorts of proper respect and bypassed conventions and laws both written and not… but she had a temper and a resolve not even the Blackwatch officers could match.

Having survived as long and as much as she had, he supposed that one was a given.

"Yes, I think I do. We have just had a meeting with Ambassador Udina. I saw a Quarian in the background… Would _that_ be him?" Sparatus hoped it wasn't. What was it with this Quarian the admiral kept referring to? The Quarians weren't even a Citadel Species, nor a member of the Human Systems Alliance.

They shouldn't be important in any way, so…what was he missing?

"It would, yeah. You see, I've been doing some research on him…" She said, causing the councilor to repress a groan. The truth was, Admiral Anna Fisher did "research" on _everyone_ she deemed important. And even those seemingly unimportant, like a stray Quarian who just happened to be mixed up in the case of a possibly rogue Spectre; "And guess who he actually is?"

If there was one thing neither Sparatus nor any of his colleagues liked, it was when the Admiral infamous for brutally mutilating slavers, hunting down criminals and disregarding intergalactic laws, _smiled_.

Especially if it was her trademark smirk, like what she was wearing now. Sparatus shuddered, wondering how a human of an age supposed to lead to wisdom and patience, could be so… He wasn't even sure there was a word for it.

That smile was laced with promises of pain, death and retaliation, as well as childish glee and a predatory intellect. He knew she had some sort of condition, something there wasn't a Galactic word for, but the effects were disturbingly well known amongst humans.

A lack of empathy, sociopathic tendencies, extreme self-preservation and paranoia. Ruthlessness and violence was more or less just the brainchild of that. Still, on top of all that, she was also an extremely keen tactician and had led most of the raids on Shanxi. When Oraka had then been forced _back_ through the Relay, Drescher stalking him through the Relays, Anna and her men had been first on the grounds of most conquered colonies.

 _S'kak_ , Fisher was more or less _to_ _blame_ for half the colonies the Hierarchy had lost in the 314-incident.

"I have no idea, frankly. The name Shepard is unknown to me…" He muttered, feeling the headache already knock on his door. He did _not_ feel like spending more time with her than he could get away with, and right now he was scraping the bottom of his patience.

"The foster son of Admiral Shala'Raan." She said, a beaming, triumphant smirk prevailing on her face; "Which, in Quarian law, makes him the equal to the daughter of Rael'Zorah, another Quarian Admiral. My sources tell me young Zorah is somewhere here on the station, incognito. I haven't been able to track her down yet though…"

That didn't mean there was anything like defeat to catch in her voice though, something Sparatus had long since learned simply wasn't in her vocabulary. If anything, the human probably just saw it like any other challenge. Though, while he was starting to see the reasoning for her interest in this 'Jon'Shepard', he couldn't figure out what her stake was with the _other_ Quarian. Still, Cologne's interests never went far from the path of giving the Council grief.

"Right, right… so, what is it about him being the foster son of this Admiral Raan that has you so eager you are willing to have a prolonged conversation with me?" He asked, pressing his eyes closed to get some of the headache out.

"I'm not giving that part up yet. Just keep an open mind during the hearing. We'll talk afterwards… _or_ , we'll argue." She said, the promptly turned and headed for the women's restroom.

Spirits… now he had another meeting with her to look forward to. Almost grounds enough for simply convicting Saren on the spot. If conversing with the auburn-haired admiral was annoying, arguing with her was like being dragged through the hellish pits of the Turian spirit-realm naked, covered in tar and rolling in nails.

Then again, that was just another day on the job.

* * *

The Citadel, Tayseri Ward

Upper Wards.

14:48

Thomas wasn't exactly sure where he was going.

This, considering his current predicament, was neither something new nor something unexpected. Still, it was due cause for worry, because he feared he had disturbed whatever decided the timeline, and enough so that things might go _horribly_ wrong if he didn't see to getting a lot of shit reversed, so to speak.

Far as he knew, Tali had only survived the original timeline because Shepard had torn through the alleys to find her before Saren's goons…or was it Fist's? Shit, he couldn't remember, just that no Alliance Commander would be riding to the rescue this time around.

Now, however, he faced a new dilemma.

The Citadel was _big_. At least a thousand streets on each Ward, and he was looking for the _one_ that had the damn clinic on it. He wasn't _stupid_ , he knew that however the game had been made to portray this place, everything had been _vastly_ simplified. There were far more streets, doors and signs, the majority of them in letters he just could not recognize.

So, despite being a man, he did what his gender had been eternally condemned to refuse:

He asked for directions.

"Excuse me sir, but do you know the location of Doctor Chloe Michel's office? It's really important I get there fast."

Seeing as how the first the best person he had managed to stop was a Salarian, he didn't even know if the alien would know a clinic run by a human. Nevertheless, the Salarian stopped and looked at him, briefly making Thomas worry that maybe his translator was fucked. _After everything that's happened, I wouldn't even be surprised._

"You… you're standing right in front of it, you know that?" the alien mused. There was this expression on his – or was it a female? – face that seemed to be eternally entertained by a human asking for directions to a clinic.

Then Thomas actually processed the spoken words, turned around, and contemplated vaulting the closest ledge.

On a bright, softly glowing neon sign, a series of English letters were bent in plastic, illuminated by azure gasses. Or something. Neon might work differently now than before.

Dr. Michel.

Non-profit all species clinic.

Open all hours, no appointment needed.

Even when the Salarian decided he had done his and left, Thomas remained, staring at the sign like it was coming alive. He couldn't even imagine how many years it would have taken him to live it down if _anyone_ from the crew had seen him now.

" _You could just have asked me for directions."_ The Voice pointed out, _not_ lessening Thomas' frustration and fluster. He simply decided not to dignify that with an answer.

 _Alright… time to do this_.

Luckily, he was wearing his Normandy-issued navy uniform, seeing as his own clothes were a bit too… lost, plus his garrison uniform had been blown to bits. Taking a deep breath of mixed trepidation and giddiness, Thomas swallowed and palmed the door.

"Doctor Chloe Michel?"

He decided to speak up instantly, hoping to catch her attention. Inside, looking through something obviously medicinal-related, a redheaded, young woman turned to regard him as he entered. She was wearing the same kind of one-piece bodysuit as Chakwas, just not in Alliance patterns.

"Yes?" the word came out with haste, like she was spending valuable time talking to him. She seemed…nervous, for some reason. Thomas wasn't even _armed_.

"Private Tho-" he started when a door next to Michel opened, and a man in full surgery-gear stepped out. Thomas simply stopped talking when it was obvious Michel's attention wasn't currently on him.

The man, built like a truck from what Thomas could discern, seemed to hesitate when their eyes met. Something about them struck the private as familiar, but seeing as he'd never even _been_ to the clinic before, he couldn't imagine how or why. Yet, there was a definite widening of those strangely known eyes.

And for some reason, Thomas noticed the surgeon was wearing sneakers with azure plastic-wraps. _Where do you even_ get _those today?_

"Chloe, could you keep an eye on the patient?" he gave the doctor as nod while pulling off gloves stained with dark, purplish blood. Right, _multi_ -species clinic; "I'll take this one."

Michel, the woman Thomas had hoped to actually _find_ , nodded and left for the side-room. That left Thomas with the surgeon, though he wasn't even sure why. The man's eyes were the only visible part of his face, the rest covered by a surgeon's mask and a hair-net.

"So…, Fisher, I'm guessing you're from the Normandy?"

* * *

The Citadel, the Presidium

The Citadel Tower

15:12

"Where the _Hell_ is Fisher?" Ashley demanded of the room, seeing as the rest of its residents didn't seem any the wiser on the subject than her. _Dammit_ , this was what happened when you let a uniformed kid play tourist. They always got lost.

"I don't know. We'll have to take the hearing without him. Does he know _anything_ you don't?" Nihlus asked, looking to her side from where he was standing at the railing, listening to and watching a Turian C-Sec officer arguing with his superior.

"…No, not that I know of. He was knocked out cold by the rocket." She muttered, still not liking the memory of that moment, nor the fact that even bringing it up seemed to have brought the private pain back in the embassy.

It was a nice way of saying she might be accomplice if he ended up with post-traumatic-stress-syndrome.

"Well… at least we won't have to worry about missing crucial evidence then… come on, Anderson is signaling us." Jon'Shepard said, shrugging as he pushed away from the railing to the fountain, looking first at her, then at the Captain of the Normandy as he and Ambassador Udina were waiting at the foot of the stairs to the Council chambers proper.

"Dammit… he's better have an explanation for this later." She muttered, then followed the Quarian.

* * *

The Citadel, Tayseri Ward

Chloe Michel's Clinic, Upper Wards.

15:12

"I…am?" it too his brain a full three seconds to register and formulate a response; "I mean yes, I am. How did you-"

"Good. Take a seat then, I'll just have to check something." The surgeon cut him off. There was something distinctly familiar about that man, something scratching at Thomas' consciousness.

" _You have met this man before."_

" _I kinda figured that…Who is he?"_ Thomas kept his silence as he watched the surgeon move around, operating his Omnitool while muttering about things like hemoglobin and blood clotting. Those were just the words he _understood_.

" _Now where would the fun be in this universe if I revealed that?"_

" _You're seriously a bastard sometimes, you know that?"_ still, Thomas did as the surgeon had told him, and sat in one of the longue-chairs set up in the waiting room. It was cheap material, but better than sitting on plastic or the floor.

The surgeon guessing his posting however, was unexpected. Thomas spent painful seconds looking at his own uniform, seeing no symbols, signs or insignias. There was literally _nothing_ giving him away, which just made it all the more weird that the surgeon knew.

Maybe the man was former Alliance Navy and knew the ship was at the station? Still, even if he knew that much, there was no guarantee a marine walking into the clinic was from the _Normandy_ , of all ships. Plus, the media hadn't been around at all, so…how?

"I'm making some tea, Rooibos, if you prefer?" there was something even more weird about the certainty in the surgeon's tone, like he _knew_ what Thomas liked. Was it something all marines liked, or did he just _look_ like a rooibos-type?

"That's…yes, thanks, I would love some." He muttered, keeping an eye on the surgeon as the man walked around, bringing a pair of cups with him from what seemed to be a thermos-kettle of some sort.

"First thing I did when I started working here was getting a proper tea-kettle and boiler installed." The surgeon explained as if _that_ would make more sense; "You'd be surprised how big a difference human tea can make when you wake up in strange places."

"I'll…remember that." Thomas said, unsure of how else to reply. On one hand, that _was_ a handy tip, especially because he happened to prefer Rooibos over most other kinds of tea. On the other, the surgeon was starting to creep him out a little. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because a complete stranger was addressing him like they'd known each other for years.

When the man retuned with the cups, mask still covering his face, Thomas felt like the chair was on fire beneath him. He was utterly confused at how this had turned out, not to mention he wasn't sure how much time he had left before the hearing started.

"You're not drinking?" he asked, referring to the mask. The surgeon just shook his head;

"Both cups are for you." he explained, then added with what could almost be a chuckle; "Believe you me, my friend, I think you'll need them."

"…do I _know_ you from somewhere?"

"You just might, depending on how much time you've spent here already…" it was as if each new sentence out of that man's mouth was competing with the former to be the more confusing. How much time he had spent here already? Spent where - on the Citadel? "Sorry about what happened to the colony, by the way…Drink, the tea's just above lukewarm."

"… _riiiiight_ , I'll just…" he blew on the tea and took a sip. Warmth spread throughout his body, and some of the tenseness left his muscles, forcing him to nod; "It's good."

"Thought so. Surprisingly you and Chloe like it the same way. Easiest co-worker I've ever had, you know…just not into humans." The surgeon leaned back in his own chair and started fiddling with the hair-wrap; "You know, no one was thrown a bigger curve-ball than me when the name 'Fisher' suddenly appeared outside the Admiralty. And on Eden-fucking-Prime, of all places…makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

The hair-wrap came off, revealing short-cropped, dark hair.

"I…" okay. This had stopped being funny before it even started, and now Thomas was seriously considering ripping the surgeon's mask off, if nothing else then because he was being so frustratingly mysterious, and Thomas was fairly sure Ashley was going to murder him for being late.

Or maybe just rip his other leg off.

"Then again, six months is a long time to just be sitting on your ass, wondering about the why's and the how's." the surgeon scratched his chin, creaking his eyes in a smile; "Take me, for example. Didn't feel like joining the Alliance to go out killing pirates or patrol the void. So, I did what anyone with training as a naval officer and corpsman would do when arriving at the center of galactic society."

"Becoming a surgeon?" Thomas asked, watching as the man of aforementioned profession started undoing his mask.

"While _waiting_ for the right moment where the _right_ _people_ were going to stop by..." he stopped undoing the mask, seemingly in thought; "Then again, I was actually kind of worried the place would be shot up before you got here. Granted I never actually had any _guarantee_ you would be here, but…I guess things just have a way of working out. I'll even give you an example, Thomas…"

"I…my first name's not on the label." Only his last name was, adding to the mounting confusion. He officially had _no_ idea what was going on, only that a surgeon working on the Citadel knew a lot more about him than even a stalker was likely to.

Which wasn't super creepy at all.

"About half an hour before you got here, a Turian walked in with kidney-problems." The surgeon said, removing the mask. For ten long seconds, Thomas simply stared at a face he had resigned to never see again – plus a short, well-kempt beard – and was unable to process the sight, allowing a supposedly dead man to continue; "So, yeah, I just came out of surgery with an alien, in case you hadn't caught on."

"This…this is…Is this…?"

Nicolai- _fucking_ -Tengberg.

"Dunno _how_ the Hell you survived Eden Prime, Amigo, but…well, glad to see you did." Nicolai picked up the untouched cup of tea; "I lied about both cups being yours, by the way. Cheers for your return to the living."

"C-ch… _how_?"

"How did _you_ come back?" Nicolai turned the question around. Then seemed to take pity on Thomas and smiled, downing half his cup in one swig, wiped his beard with the back of his hand and sighed; "Truth be told, I really don't know."

"Don't tell me you…you…"

"Died?" Nicolai finished the sentence for him, with old grief in his eyes. Thomas just nodded, unable to form a coherent sentence; ""Don't know… after you went and got crapped on by the train, I decided to stick with the navy instead of going merchant-fleet. Half a year later, Putin decided to throw nukes around like fucking confetti. I was on the Esben Snare, at that point, and fucking atomic bombs hit Anholt, where we were anchored for shore leave. Never would have figured it should end like that… never even got to say goodbye to the old folks."

"So you… didn't see… some kind of light or a voice that spoke to you?" even if the reunion still seemed way beyond what could even be considered within the realm of 'impossible', his mind was starting to catch up.

"Saw a _light_ , alright. Nuclear bombs tend to put on quite the show." Nicolai grinned, a hint of regret in his eyes. He shook his head and sighed; "Still, can't really do anything about it now. I woke up nearby about six months ago, knew next to nothing about what the hell was going on, needed cash and took a job here at the clinic…So, you heard a _voice_?"

"Kind of…yeah." Thomas drank some more of the tea, trying to calm himself down. It was damn near impossible, considering one of his best friends from before he'd been smeared was now sitting across from him, employed in Michel's clinic of all places; "I'm guessing it's something that'll be explained eventually."

"… _Right_." Nicolai said, sighing with just a hint of a chuckle; "Shit, here I'm being all mysterious and collected, and I haven't even asked how the fuck _you_ ended up here…or how your leg ended up like that. Got a limp or…?"

Thomas put the cup down on the glass-surface of the table, idly staring at his own reflection in the material. His hair looked like hell, with how a good patch had apparently been burned off.

"…I was conscripted, more or less, into the 212th on Eden Prime… There I met some really good people… I spent about a week there, I think, before Saren attacked. I never saw his ship, but… we escaped the place with all but me, Ashley and another marine named Hillary dead. The entire colony was slaughtered by the geth…"

"Fuuuuuck…" He groaned, pulling at strands in his beard; "Didn't give those details on the news, just there'd been an attack on the colony…So, everyone dead but you three?"

"More or less, aside from Nihlus somehow surviving the whole thing. Halfway up a hill, I was hit by a rocket, woke up on the Normandy with one sock too many and found out Shepard is a Quarian… feel free to grow pale and scream now." he said, leaning back in the chair. Surprisingly, Nicolai did not grow pale or scream.

Then again, Thomas had never known him to actually _do_ that.

"Nihlus survived?" Nicolai huffed; "Well…that means…wait, so you work on the Norman-…Shepard is a Quarian?"

"So far the only Shepard I've met is a Quarian, yeah."

"…a _Quarian_."

"Yeahhhhhhhhh…" Thomas had the presence of mind to actually grin a little at that. Nicolai's calm expression was now broken into a mixture of disbelief, horror and amusement. His friend then sighed explosively and slumped back in the chair;

"…Things are never really simple when it comes to being around you, know that?"

"Yes" Thomas nodded, almost feeling a little proud at that fact; "What's the matter, you never seemed to complain before?"

"Hey, I just dug out a freaking kidney-stone from a Turian." Nicolai retorted, drawing Thomas' eyes to the blood on his friend. So, not Tali then; "Let me tell you… _not_ funny. Humans are hard enough to cut open and sew back together, but aliens…Shit, mate, that's not even funny. I mean, I've been here for months now, and I've been hearing about cases where Chloe had to…What's wrong?"

Thomas had, upon hearing the word 'hearing', been reminded that he was currently missing out on the meeting which would probably determine whether or not they even got the permission to hunt down Saren's ass.

"Shit…I was supposed to be at the hearing against Saren right now… Ashley is _so_ going to kill me." Thomas groaned, getting up from the chair. At those words, Nicolai regained his smile and started chuckling.

"You know, of _all_ the people… Ashley Williams, huh?" The look in his eyes when saying her name caused Thomas to blush far more than what he could blame on the temperature. He could feel his ears boiling, which was extremely frustrating because he had not even fucking _planned_ on falling in love, or whatever it was called.

Considering his situation, it was probably a mix of hormones and Stockholm's syndrome.

"What? No, no, no, no… no. She's… I mean, she would never… I'm not…She's my superior officer, even if…Rules, and…I _so_ hate you, you know that, right?"

"How long have you known her?" Nicolai asked, face getting a little more serious. There was still that easy grin on his lips, the very same that had always given him luck with the girls.

"I… for about…six days." Thomas managed to say, fighting the heavy blush. _Blast it, is this what it was like when I teased_ him _with_ his _girlfriends?_

"So… not even a week, and you're horny for the Chief already. Didn't take you long. Now… what are you doing here anyway, if you were supposed to be at a hearing?" He smiled, then looked around, probably to make sure Michel wasn't listening in on them. Gods that would be awkward to explain, mostly for him, though. _Might have to knock her out and make her think neither me or Nicolai ever existed…_

"Well… don't be insulted-" Thomas started, even as he heard the door slide open to the street. A _hiss_ of pressurized air, followed by someone entering where he couldn't see.

"H- _help_ me…" Nicolai was out of his seat before Thomas even recognized the voice. When he finally _did_ , his friend was already at the door, kneeling where a hooded girl had fallen to her knees. _Holy fuck-cakes!_

"Hey! Hey, miss!" Nicolai was no longer the carefree guy Thomas had only just been reunited with. Now, he was a paramedic, a different personality entirely. Idly, Thomas knew his friend had been trained to handle gunshots and shrapnel-wounds in the navy, already before he'd been killed by the train, but to see him hoist up an actual victim… "Chloe! Clear a gurney, prep the antiseptics! Get the clean-rom ready and bring out the dextro-sealant!"

"What's going-" Michel halted her question when she saw Nicolai carrying the Quarian. Thomas was still at the chair, standing but having not yet moved an inch. He was stunned, unable to process what he was looking at. Nicolai was carrying Tali'Zorah to a gurney, and _he_ was just standing there; "Right away!"

"C-can I help?" Thomas managed to ask, even as his friend was rummaging through equipment, activating machines and turning on programs. Nicolai stopped his activities just briefly enough to look over at him, eyebrows furrowed in agitation.

"…you have a gun?"

"No, but-"

"Then lock the door. We might have company." Nicolai barked, stunning Thomas to a standstill with the unfamiliar tone. Time really _did_ change some people, he realized. Rationally, he should have expected something like this, really. His friend had _passed_ the navy's officer-course; it stood to reason he could boss people around; " _Now_ Thomas!"

The stupor was broken and Thomas snapped to it, realizing that things were actually _happening_ even though he couldn't readily believe them. Shit was getting real, and fast. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

He slapped the haptic at the door, sealing it shut. Even then, he could hear the sound of running feet from outside. Little was in that area of the Upper Wards, and Thomas had noticed that the hallway ended just a dozen meters to the left of the entrance, with a public restroom. _Unless it's widespread diarrhea, this is_ bad _. Shit!_

"She's in there!" someone with a flanged voice – a Turian – yelled outside the door. Thomas jerked away from the door as the panel lit up. Someone was opening it, and he didn't know how to _lock_ the door.

When the door slid open, revealing a Turian in armor, he simply panicked and acted on instinct. The Turian managed to level his gun, only to receive a bionic kick to the knee. The alien went down, as did the shot, burrowing pellets into the floor to the sound of an overwhelming explosion.

"I said _LOCK_ THE FUCKING DOOR!"

"I'M _WORKING_ ON IT!"

"IT'S _ONE_ FUCKING INTERFACE!"

"… _kheelah_ …"

Thomas palmed the door shut again, then pointed his Omnitool at the interface and overloaded the damn thing. Contrary to what he had hoped for, the door didn't seal itself shut.

A sad thing about modern doors was that in the case of an emergency, such as a fire or a collapse, doors were designed to open once their hydraulics deactivated, thus preventing people from being trapped inside.

When the door slid open again, it was to the same Turian, now pointing his gun directly at Thomas' face. The snarl and wide-spread mandibles signaled little in the way of merciful thinking. _Oh fuck me!_

 _ **KRAK!**_

* * *

Five minutes earlier.

Upper Wards, Keeper Walkways 60 meters from Chloe Michel's Clinic

" _Fenrir-five this is Fenrir-two, come in, over."_

"Fenrir-two, this is Fenrir-five, overwatch is a go, all's quiet since target entered the clinic."

" _Be advised, Five, Fenrir-one spotted three armed mercenaries enroute to the clinic. How copy?"_

"…mercs are Birds?"

" _Affirmativ_ e."

"Visual confirmed. Three Birds in civilian headed for the clinic." Fenrir-Five reported, switching off the safety on his weapon; "…Fenrir-two, uniformed human male just closed the clinic's entrance in a hurry. Sending footage…"

"… _Understood. Be advised, human male potential VIP. Prevent incapacitation if at all possible_."

"Birds have reached the clinic…VIP kicked flock-leader's knee in, possibly marine…the doors are opening again. Rules of engagement?"

" _Duck Hunt_ "

* * *

 _ **KRAK!**_

When the Turian's skull exploded and sprayed Thomas with fragments and gore, the only reason he didn't scream was because he was too stunned to do so.

One moment, the Turian's shotgun had been leveled straight at his head, ready to send him back to the darkness, then the alien's head suddenly exploded. Contrary to when Bates had been shot in the head, the Turian had been killed with a standard slug. That meant blood, bone-fragments, torn tissue and brain matter gushing out in a fountain of gore.

Most of it hit him, splashing over his face and upper chest. Thomas stared in wide-eyed horror and disgust as the nearly decapitated alien fell to the floor in a sagging heap, gun still in hand. Someone stepped up behind him, though he couldn't make himself turn to see who.

"Aw Jesus Fuck, _Man_! Who's getting blood all over my floor?!" Nicolai's voice came from behind him in outrage and frustration; "I told you to _lock_ the fucking door, Thomas, not short-"

The next alien coming through the door was obviously seeking cover from whomever had shot the first attacker. It was a Turian as well, dressed in the same civilian outfit but with a kinetic barrier that flickered to life as a round hammered it from behind, causing the mercenary to stumble forward. So, not civilians with guns then.

 _ **KABLAM!**_

Then the Turian was blown straight back out the door, missing a large piece of his chest. It was only the whine of sound returning to his world that made Thomas realize that the firing of a gun right above his head had momentarily deafened him.

"And _stay_ the fuck out: We're full."

When he looked up, Nicolai was holding a smoking shotgun of non-human make, aiming at the doorway. When painfully tense seconds passed by and nothing happened, Thomas finally saw him lower the shotgun. _Nick just killed someone!_

" _Six months sure do wonders for pacifists, don't they?"_

" _That's…not even funny. And where did he even_ get _the gun?"_

"Ah, shit, I hit the door too…" Nicolai groaned and folded up the shotgun, whereafter he looked down at Thomas with a wry expression; "Shit, you… ah…got a little something on your…everywhere, actually, Thomas."

"W-what…what the _fuck_?" Thomas whispered, staring between his gun-toting friend and the two dead Turians; "Where'd…how…"

"Should've thrown you the gun the moment I found it, yeah, sorry…" the surgeon/killer sighed, folding up the weapon; "Should've remembered Tali always carried one of these things."

"Y-you just…k-killed someone!"

"… _Damn_ …I did, didn't I?" he groaned, shaking his head; " _Fuck_ , C-Sec's going to be all over this place."

"Shouldn't we-" Thomas started, wiping his eyes from sweat.

A soft series of _ping_ 's made him trail off and look at the door. It was open, and a small ball was skidding across the floor. Two pairs of eyes widened in horror as the grenade's _ping_ s reached a constant tone, only for its lights to go out.

Gunfire sounded from the outside of the door, though neither human dared to move. Maybe the grenade was a delayed motion-sensor, and would go off the second someone moved away from it. When the gunfire stopped to the sound of a body hitting the ground, Thomas swallowed hard.

"…Are…are we…" Nicolai whispered, staring at the grenade. It had just _stopped_ , and they didn't know why; "Holy _shit_!"

"That…was too close." Thomas breathed explosively, throwing the dud out the door. He didn't want to risk it suddenly activating and blowing them all to Hel. It was funny – just a little – that apparently _that_ was now a legitimate destination for Scandinavians.

Didn't mean he _wanted_ to see it, though.

"Okay…Okay, let's just…Okay, so…we have two bodies in the clinic."

"Three, actually, if you count the dead one outside."

"You're not helping." Nicolai grumbled, drawing in a deep breath; "Okay, I'll see if Chloe and Tali are alright, then we dump the bodies in the nearest vent and let the Keepers drag them to the protein-vats."

Damn. That was cold.

Still, Thomas was unable to come up with a better plan. If they called C-Sec, there was a fairly big risk Saren would know sooner rather than later that he'd failed at killing Tali – Thomas assumed the Turian was the one sending mercs after them – and more would come. Plus, Nicolai had killed one of them, and no other witnesses than Thomas himself could support his claims of self-defense.

After it turned out that Michel was wrist-deep in Tali's shoulder – that was a sight he would probably not get over for the foreseeable future – Thomas and Nicolai each grabbed their Turian, covered them in thermos-foil and started for the nearest Keeper duct. It was close, and the shooting had scared off whomever might have been close enough to see anything.

It still felt like a mob-film though, not that Thomas really had a choice but to help his friend with the last body. Like the first, this one was missing most of his head from what seemed to be a high-powered, heavy slug through the back of his head.

"So…who shot _this one_?" Nicolai mused grimly as they threw the body down the duct. Thuds and bangs echoed from within as the body dropped into the bowels of the Citadel; "I mean, you saw the entrance-hole, right? Had to have been a high-caliber round."

"…Garrus, maybe?" Thomas suggested. He remembered how the Turian had done the same to Sidonis, so it wouldn't be _impossible_ ; "Shit, I don't know…"

"Your tool." Nicolai said.

"What'd you call me?" Thomas asked with a frown. His friend then just pointed at the Omnitool currently flaring orange with the 'incoming call' message. Gods dammit, he needed to get an alarm on that thing. When he looked at the caller, it wasn't one he remembered adding, though he still accepted the call.

" _Thomas, its Jon. I'm just giving you a call because Ashley seems a little pissed at you for not showing up. Just so you have a fair warning… speaking of, why didn't you show up?"_ Jon did sound a little annoyed, even if his words were calm and friendly. Thomas could feel his fingers going numb for fear of what Ashley would do to him, having skipped the hearing even though he'd said he'd be there.

Probably something like running rounds on the Presidium.

"Right…" he sighed, shaking his head as if that would solve anything. Gods dammit, why couldn't the guy have called _after_ Tali was better? Right now he didn't even know if Michel could help her at all; "Listen… Jon, I'm at Doctor Michel's clinic. You know, the non-profit one in the Upper Wards? I think I've found something we can use for… Wait, how'd the hearing go?"

" _Like dung, if you want to know. They just dismissed everything we said, and Saren called Anderson out on racism and on manipulating Nihlus… coming from him, that's like the Batarian accusing the Salarian of slavery. Anderson then tried using the visions as evidence_ …"

"He didn't mention…visions?" Thomas muttered, slapping his own forehead. Meanwhile, Nicolai was just following the conversation while furrowing his brows deeper and deeper. Thomas wanted to hit himself right about now. He hadn't even _considered_ asking what Jon had seen when the Beacon grabbed him, and now he had nothing to go from.

" _Right, no one told you…"_ Shepard sighed explosively; " _Short story is that the Beacon on your colony shoved some images inside my brain, most of them flashes of pain, death and terror. Chakwas decided they were just dreams, while the captain tried using them against Saren…"_

"He didn't."

 _"He did. And Saren used that to make it seem like we were grasping at straws. The Council dismissed us, ignored Nihlus and called the session to an end and named Saren innocent._ " What had at first sounded like static actually turned out to be Jon's teeth grinding against each other. Thomas wasn't yet completely sure why the Quarian was so passionate about bringing down a threat to a species not his own, but appreciated it nonetheless.

"Well great… fuck, this just makes getting Tali out of here safely even more of a priority…" Thomas grumbled to himself, lowering his voice the instant he realized he was speaking aloud. Dammit, if Jon heard about Tali – granted it wasn't a hundred percent that they actually _knew_ each other – before she was safe, there would be shitstorms on the horizon, and Hel to pay.

" _What were you saying before? Where are you?"_ Jon asked as Thomas made his way back inside the clinic.

"I'm in the non-profit clinic, Doctor Michel's clinic on the Upper Wards, near C-Sec. You know where that is?" Thomas asked. There was a bit of commotion on the other end, then Jon's voice came back on. Someone else was talking in the background.

" _Nihlus does. Why are you there though?_ "

"I mentioned I might have found something, an informant… I think… C-can you hold for a minute, she's coming towards me now. I'll get back to you when I know." Thomas stuttered and cut the connection.

Tali'Zorah, dressed in black, silver and purple, was being helped from the other room, even though Michel protested with almost every step. When the doctor looked at them, she shot Nicolai an exasperated look.

"Jesus Christ…" the Greenlander sighed; "Miss Zorah, would you mind telling us why you're already out of bed?"

"I said I'm _fine_."

"You were _shot_." Chloe argued.

"…And you helped me." Tali replied; "W-what happened out here? I heard gunshots and screams and-"

"Miss Zorah, are you honestly trying to tell me you're feeling fine after you were shot with…" Nicolai paused and looked at Chloe.

"Polonium rounds. Two in the shoulder."

"Right, those. People usually get sick just from exposure to _one_."

"…My suit took a lot of the toxins away." She muttered; "A-and I don't want to stay here if it means...if it means...You- you could get attacked because of me!"

"Little late for _that_ one now, I think…" Nicolai sighed, glancing at the ruined door; "Look, contrary to what you might think, we're not in a hurry to get rid of you. So chill, okay?"

"…oh."

It was painfully obvious that Tali had been in a hurry because she had expected to be _kicked_ out otherwise. It was a sad fact that Quarians were generally being treated like that, even by the _humans_ on the Citadel. Thomas just hoped Earth was different. When Nicolai elbowed him in the side, it took him a moment of annoyance to understand why.

"Hey Tali… I mean, Miss Zorah…" he started, feeling his mouth dry up like cotton. He was _intimidated_. Which made no sense whatsoever since Tali was about as harmless and cute as they came, at least at this point in time. He took a new breath, exhaled, took a new and finally continued;

"I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time."" He approached her, all the while she was leaning against the wall. On her feet and with those strong legs of hers being put to use, she looked more like the Tali Thomas remembered. With the exception of the fact that he now knew the color of her skin – and of her blood, thank you very much Michel.

"Yes, I... suppose I owe the both of you thanks. For, not letting them take me, you know." She was wringing hands, something Thomas couldn't help but smile at. It might be remarkable how different she looked from the way Mass Effect had presented her, but her voice and behavior remained the same; "But, I…uhm…I don't know your names…"

"Nicolai Tengberg." It was amazing – and surprising – how Nicolai let nothing show of the fact that once, before all of this, he had been one of the most ardent pushers for Tali as a…choice, for Shepard. Now, he seemed like this was the first time he'd ever even heard of her, even as he handed her back the weapon. _Time really does change people…_ ; "I, ah, borrowed your shotgun, by the way…Here."

"Private First Class Thomas Fisher. I serve on the Normandy, which is also part of what I wanted to talk to you about. But first… I would like to know if you by any chance know another Quarian named Jon'Shepard?"

He could have sworn Tali nearly hit the damn ceiling at that. Luckily, she remained standing where she was. She still ran on the spot, flailing her arms around, all in all reminding him of a squirrel on caffeine.

" _Yes_! Yes, I know Jon! Do you know where he is? How is he, what's he doing? Is he here on the Citadel?" Man, that couldn't be simple friendship… or it might. Thomas had never been the best to judge people's emotions. It would be a huge help with Ash, but he would probably survive without.

"Whoa, whoa, Tali slow down. First, _yes,_ I know where he is and you will see him. _Second_ , he's doing fine. The guy apparently saved my life on Eden Prime, so if I can reunite the two of you, I'd see it as a good way to start paying him back. He's part of the crew on the Normandy as well. And yes, he's here on the Citadel. He just finished a meeting with the council… _long_ story. I'm sure he'll be eager to retell it when we meet up with him."

"So, _WHEN_ do I get to see him?" she was almost like a predator in the way she borderline demanded the information. Not that Thomas minded giving it to her;

"Well, we're currently hunting this Spectre called Saren Arterius, and we need information on him that ties him up with the assault on Eden Prime. But so far, we've found nothing of u-" that was as far as he got, before Tali cut him off, activating her Omnitool in a display of brilliant light.

"I can help-I can help! I found a memory-core from a geth in the Terminus-systems; its databanks held information about their new "prophet" named Saren! And then you can take me to John!" She practically screamed, causing Nicolai to flinch and hold his ears.

"… _ow_." He grimaced; "Please don't scream in the clinic, Tali. It scares away the customers."

"…sorry."

"You do?" Thomas asked, only half-pretending to be surprised. He honestly hadn't been completely sure if she would have gotten her hands on it, what with so much else being altered. If she had come straight to the Citadel from the Migrant fleet, she wouldn't have had the data. It was only because she had been chased in here that he'd even dared mentioning to Jon he'd found something useful.

"Yes… I wanted to sell the information to Fist. He works for the Shadow Broker, I think, and then the Broker could give the Council the information and I would get something in return I could take back to the Fleet. But now…Kheelah, if this can help Jon, if this'll mean I can see him again…"

"Well…that was easy" Nicolai noted; "Somehow I'm surprised we're not still getting shot at, you know?"

"Stop tempting the universe, Mate." Thomas said, causing his friend to wiggle his eyebrows. Gods, he was _still_ doing that? "But yeah, the plan'd be for you to give the data to Jon or Captain Ander-"

"Jon." Tali stated. Thomas hesitated, glancing at Nicolai; "It has to be Jon."

"Sure, fine…" the surgeon sighed, glancing in the direction Doctor Michel had disappeared off to; "Not like it's my decision anyway…Look, you two talk about…whatever you need to talk about, and I'll see how Chloe's doing. She's not used to people using her clinic as a fucking battlefield…"

Thomas nodded and allowed Nicolai to leave the room before reactivating his Omnitool and redialed Jon. Now at least, he knew the number.

" _Shepard here_." The filtered voice came back. Thomas could see how Tali was visibly restraining herself from jumping forward and snatching the tool from his arm, even if it would mean breaking it. Thomas had had his share of broken bones for this month, if he could have a say in it.

"John, it's me again. Listen, the informant has valid data on Saren, _valid_. We're still in the clinic. Where are you?"

" _We've just entered the wards. We'll be a few minutes."_ He said.

"…Okay, we'll stay here. By the way, I thought you should know the informer is a Quarian from the Rayya." He really should just tell Jon he was standing here with Tali, but the small amount of Thomas that had always been a prankster preferred to see full shock-volume when the Quarian entered through the door.

" _She is?"_ He asked, his voice taking on a more… a deeper tone, was the best way to describe it. Like the words gave him both dread and hope at the same time. Honestly, it was something Thomas wanted to find out more about. The whole situation was deeply weird and screamed of some sort of tragic separation in the past.

"Yeah. Now move your ass, I've never liked hospitals much." Thomas said, ending the transmission. When he turned, it was to be facing the half-glare, half-confused expression of Tali, as well as a Nicolai struggling to keep an even face.

"Don't diss my job, Thom."

"Why didn't you tell him it was me?" Tali demanded, her voice carrying hurt and confusion. Thomas sighed, having not foreseen the negative aspects of keeping her a secret.

"…I… dammit. I don't know really. If he knew it was you, he might race through the wards, topple people over, get arrested… better if he just gets the surprise when he walks in here, no?" he asked, grinning.

When Thomas shortly thereafter heard footsteps in the street outside, armored and civilian boots entering the room, he expected to see Jon already here.

In hindsight, that one was stupidly naïve of him.

"Took you shorter…" he started, turning around, only to be met with a gun, more precisely a Carnifex, a bit of custom-done markings done to the grip, stuck in between his eyes. _Fuck me. Again._

People sticking their guns in his face was starting to become a really bothersome habit.

"There she is! The Quarian!" the leader of the men, humans this time, yelled, followed by the sound of guns being readied and aimed at Tali, Michel and Nicolai.

"Aw _come on_ , I didn't even get to fix the fucking door!" Nick started. Thomas expected him to be holding the shotgun, but found his friend now unarmed. Tali, instead, had the gun strapped to her back, and Nicolai received a pistol-butt to the side of his face for his trouble; "-Son of a _fuck_!"

"Shut up! You, girl. You're coming with us." The apparent leader of the men, counting six of them, said, grabbing Tali's forearm, namely the one she'd been shot in. She yelped in pain, her voice a shrill cry for help. Thomas moved forward to help her, only to find the muzzle of a gun pressed against his forehead. Right, there was a gun on his forehead. How had he missed that? When the muzzle pressed against his skin, a green tint slowly started merging with the world. Thomas blinked, trying to get out whatever was in his eyes. _Fuck, not now! I have to see-_

A loud bang, followed by a slug going straight through the head of the man holding Tali, shook the room with volume alone. From behind the low middle-wall, a blue armored C-Sec officer stood, gun in hand;

"Let go of her, you son of a bitch!"

Shots were fired, rounds clipping against metal walls. One ricocheted, zipping just an inch past Thomas' cheek.

The muzzle was removed from his forehead as the owner took aim at the new attackers, namely Nicolai as he hammered a fist into the temple of the closest gang-member - or whatever they were. The man was sent sailing from the impact, weapon falling from his hand.

As the man in front of Thomas aimed his gun at the surgeon, Thomas grabbed his arm, forcing the gun against the ceiling until a knee hit him in the groin, forcing the air from his lungs in a wave of nausea and agony. Yet he held on to the arm, knowing that if he let go, the man would be shooting them all.

More shots, and more of the attackers fell to the ground, bloody holes in their heads, courtesy of a Turian handgun. Garrus' entrance was far less…gory, the first time Thomas had watched it.

Gasping for air as the pain starts pulsating instead of burning, Thomas delivered as hard a punch as he could to the man's own groin, feeling as the impact with the hipbone shook his own arm. It was _nothing_ against the pain the man likely felt now though, as he sank to the floor.

Next to Thomas, Tali had pulled her shotgun from her hip, and blasted a hole through the stomach of the second attacker. Gore, pieces of bone and strings of intestine splattered over the pristine, white wall. It was enough to make the girl recoil and scream at her own work. And Thomas felt like throwing up, seeing in his mind how Donkey had tried stopping his own organs from falling out.

Meanwhile, Nicolai seemed to find himself occupied, trashing around on the floor with the last one. Both men were built like trucks, trading blows with power Thomas didn't even want to get near. He could see the Turian cop move up from the corner of his eyes, but he didn't shoot the last gang member, something for which Thomas was grateful, seeing as he could've hit Nicolai.

Finally, and probably due to his well-muscled body being that much stronger, Nicolai gained the advantage and delivered a head-butting in the other man's face. The sound of a nose breaking filled the otherwise now silent room, followed by agonized moaning. Nicolai stood, and simply started to drag the man against the wall, raised above the floor.

"Who the _fuck_ are you?! Why'd you attack us?" He shouted, sending a new punch against the man's face when he didn't answer; "Answer me, you piece of shit! I am _not_ cleaningblood off the walls too!"

Thát got him talking.

"No- no one! Fist sent us, said to get the Quarian, said to kill her and bring the data if we had to!" The man choked out, Nicolai's hand closed around his neck. Thomas had never seen his friend like this before, a storm of rage and anger. He'd never actually seen him pissed off before, or just hitting someone. It just… never seemed like him. _Once more, time changes people. Shit, so much has happened…_

"You were after-" Nicolai said, then realization seems to dawn on him; "You're the back-alley guys… which means…" He muttered, turning to look at the Turian; "…You're Garrus Vakarian?"

"Officer Garrus Vakarian, yes… You _know_ me?" He said, seemingly unperturbed by Nicolai abusing a suspect right in front of him. He seemed far more surprised at being recognized, actually.

"…Heard of you…" Nicolai said, dropping the man to the floor. Then, he looked at his hands, blood staining the knuckles; "I don't… I don't feel so well, really." He muttered, slumping down on a gurney that was tipped over in the fight. _Fuuuuck… we were almost killed?_

"Miss, are you alright?" Garrus asked, turning his attention to Tali, the girl still holding the shotgun pointed at the corpse of the man she shot. She hadn't yet moved from when she had recoiled in terror. Shit.

"Miss?" He tried again, stepping closer. Tali whipped around, pointing her weapon at Garrus before seemingly realizing he was one of the good people. _Thor's testicles, if she'd_ shot _him…_

"Tali, are you alright?" Thomas asked, and speaking of Thor's testicles, he was very much trying to not walk against his own, the pain still flaring up with nausea replacing the initial burning agony.

It reminded him a bit of Elementary School, somehow.

"Yes… yes, I'm… Fist! _Fist_ sent them? He… He set me up, I should have known I couldn't trust him!" She exclaimed, her grip on the shotgun tightening. Not bothering with telling her that she would probably had marched happily into whatever trap Fist had for her, Thomas just breathed, getting his body back on the run. It still hurt like Hel, though…

"Fist? The owner of Cora's Den?" Garrus asked, holstering his weapon before looking at the dead or unconscious attackers; "Damn…"

"Yes! Yes, he said I should come to the bar, but then I was shot on my way and I went in here and…" Whatever Tali was about to say was cut off when new footsteps echoed outside the door. Thomas turned, prepared to jump into cover if more attackers appeared.

He was unarmed, not _stupid_. Still, there was no need. Instead of more armed attackers, someone familiar appeared in the entrance, allowing Thomas to finally relax. Shit, it'd been a _long_ day already.

The male Quarian in the doorway started lifting his hand in greeting before he saw the carnage in the room. Whatever he was then about to exclaim was once more cut short when he discovered Tali, standing with shotgun ready, in the middle of a warzone.

"…Tali?"

* * *

Codex Entry: Alliance Unofficial Spy-Networks – the AUSN-Group.

 _While Alliance Intelligence is commonly and publically viewed as the Human Systems Alliance' main network for intelligence-gathering, espionage and counter-espionage, this model is solely for the purpose of ensuring greater Galactic attention does not fall on the less-than-well-known information- and semi-private networks within the Alliance Structure._

 _Most if not all of these networks nevertheless cooperate with Alliance Intelligence, sharing information across whatever political or ideological borders might exist between them. This makes them somewhat similar to the spy-networks rumored to serve individual Dalatrasses on Sur'Kesh, though the human equivalent is rumored to be more centrally funded._

 _One of these is the Organization known to the Galaxy only as 'Jormungand' or the 'World Serpent', a creature of myth and destruction from the realms of Scandinavia on Earth. It was once said that the Jormungand surrounded the Earth and covered out the stars in the skies, and was so long that it could span the planet and bite its own tail. The Jormungand was one of the four children of Loki, the Norse god of trickery, subterfuge and information._

 _What is known of Jormungand as an organization remains deliberately limited. It was founded somewhere in the 2150's, following the Turian attack on Shanxi. Common belief has it that Jormungand, much like its mythological namesake, was the "child" of Loki, the Espionage and Intelligence Service of the Kalmar Union. Since then, Jormungand has reportedly been connected to industrial espionage, assassinations, military espionage as well as blackmail._

 _While rumors are abound with the leader(s?) of Jormungand being someone high in the ranks of the Alliance, no solid trace, fact or document has ever been procured to finally cement the identity of whomever leads the shadowy organization._

* * *

 **With the many changes I make, significant and insignificant both, I would really like to hear what you think of them, even if you read and preferred the original version.**

 **It's kinda my drive, you know? :)**


	6. ARLFH

**All roads lead from here**

* * *

Citadel, Presidium Tower

15:12

" _Sparatus_!"

Oh Spirits, it was _her_ again. Sparatus steeled himself for the coming onslaught of swearwords and annoying innuendoes as the red-haired admiral marched up to him, lightning in her eyes.

"You… ignorant… bunch of ass-kissers, pacifists, nerf-herders, _idiots_!" She yelled, pointing an accusing finger at him, the wrath in her voice easily heard. Spirits, why, oh why did she have to go to him every time she disagreed with the Council? By all rights, the way she always behaved with the Councilors was unheard of, and even though Sparatus had the patience to overhear it, he knew Tevos was about to pop a gasket whenever she was assaulted by Vestergaard.

"Admiral, we have been over this. The hearing concluded-"

"The only thing concluded in that hearing was that you and your council is a bunch of blind cowards! Saren has you by the balls, and you just overruled the testament of a fucking Spectre-eyewitness who was nearly shot in the face!"

"The geth would _never_ follow the words of an organic. You deal with the Migrant Fleet on a weekly basis, you of all should know why the geth rebelled 300 years ago. If they wouldn't follow their own creators, why would they follow Saren?" Sparatus demanded, for once knowing he had the upper hand in their arguments. Didn't mean they were any less uncomfortable, but he could win this.

That was, if his opponent adhered to common logic.

"That's what I don't know… _yet_ , but I'm getting there. The Normandy team has new evidence as we speak, _after_ Turian mercenaries nearly killed them. They found Tali'Zorah before I did, and she had a much more… _condemning_ piece of evidence. And I swear to fucking _Thor_ , if you just go and dismiss this shit again, I'll make your lives a living Hel. . . _wrath_ "

"Are you _threatening_ me, Admiral?" Sparatus growled, leaning forward. The woman just smirked, one of her more sinister ones, copying his leaning while her arms were crossed over her chest;

"Oh believe me, you'd know it if I threatened you, Councilor. No, what I am saying is that life on the Citadel, for _everyone_ , will be much more… _exciting_ , should you ignore the evidence put forth. Now, go to the new hearing, and bloody _listen_ to the evidence. Which reminds me, seeing as we now agree Saren is guilty-"

"I have not agreed-" he started, only for her to cut him off, her voice now far more contemplative than pissed. Knowing her history, he wasn't quite sure which he found more troubling.

"So, remember the people I mentioned before? Alenko, Shepard and Kryik? I'm thinking we form a joint-species operation to punch Saren in the balls, make those three the commanding officers of the show and send them off in the Normandy. I'll talk to Anderson about letting the ship go. He knows me, he should understand."

"Admiral, I do not think-"

"No, _that_ was made _painfully_ clear in the last hearing. Try thinking this time around, okay?" She said, her voice changing from menacingly low to a girly-sweet before patting him on the side of his jaw. She then turned and headed back to the lower levels. Sparatus was left standing there, staring at her as aghast as had he never met her before now.

With any luck, he wouldn't meet her again for the foreseeable future.

* * *

The Citadel, Tayseri Ward

Doctor Chloe Michel's Clinic, Upper Wards

15:32

Finding Thomas in the midst of an urban warzone was… _not_ what Ashley had expected, if she was to be perfectly honest.

She might have suspected he could get into a fight, what with the pent-up anger she herself was feeling after the Council had just brushed them off. Even the sole proper Turian so far, Nihlus, had been _dismissed_ when he had started having doubts in front of Saren's holographic representation. _Fucking Genocidal Asshole racist titty-twerking buttlicker of a stone-cold bird-fuck!_

Now though, her mind was on a whole 'nother thing than politics, namely why the clinic containing their informant was filled with dead or unconscious thugs, a panicked doctor hiding in a cleanroom, a Quarian girl toting a military-grade Hierarchy-issue shotgun, standing above the corpse of a man with the clear signs of having met said shotgun far too close. There was also the question as to who the other man in there was, since he had been beating the absolute shit out of one of the thugs, meaning he was _not_ a standard surgeon.

And finally, there was one Turian too many in the room, with Nihlus being there too. She looked to the side as she strode in, weapons at the ready after seeing the carnage, but holstered them when no hostiles seemed to have remained. The Turian though seemed to be from C-Sec, judging by his armor, yet didn't make a scene out of the number of bodies on the ground. _Why can't anyone refrain from killing each other all the time?_

His blue markings somehow rang a familiar tone in her mind. Something about…what was it now? Citadel C-Sec had been in the news sometimes, with car-chases and exciting content for the garrison to enjoy. She was fairly sure she'd seen his face in one of those vids, but didn't know his name.

Still, it wasn't important.

"Tali?"

Her attention was pulled to Jon, their Quarian – she wasn't sure yet if he was a colleague, comrade, ally or something else entirely –, as he stopped dead in his tracks, starring at said female Quarian. While Ashley's knowledge of most aliens was limited, she had some background on the Quarian people, if only what she had picked up in her free time. From what she could gauge, the Quarian was a girl, hardly adult yet. That she was here on the Citadel must mean she had undertaken the Pilgrimage. Still, Ashley was out of the loop as to how Jon knew her by name. And it wasn't just her.

Most chatter and activity in the room ceased as the attention was turned to the two Quarians, especially the young girl who seemed taken completely aback at being called by name. The girl whipped around with a speed only Salarians ought to be capable of, and stopped all movements as she looked back at Shepard.

Silence reigned for what felt like minutes, with no one speaking up… _.Damn…Awkwaaaaaard_

"…Jon?" Her voice was, if possible, even smaller than what Jon had used, and held the bottled-up emotions and grief of years of separation. Ashley was starting to get a vague picture of what was going on here, but decided to keep her ideas to herself. Mostly because it seemed like she wouldn't need to say anything.

As if in a movie, all sound and movement in the room had ended, all except for the pair of Quarians as they took slow, hesitant and frightened steps toward each other, as if they were afraid of the other simply vanishing into smoke.

The girl, Tali, held a small hand out, one finger reaching all the way and touched Jon's shoulder, then his arm, then ended up in his hand, where the two other fingers then joined it, slowly intertwining with the man's. The gesture was mirrored by Jon, his fingers locking in-between Tali's with a tenderness like she was the frailest of flowers, afraid he would bump off petal.

"…Tali? Is… you…it's…" It seemed like Jon had suddenly contracted a speech disorder, only firmly solidifying what Ashley had suspected. Just the way the two looked at each other, even through their visors, told it all.

Ah, young love… Who the Hell said romance was dead anyway?

A few minutes later, when both Quarians had somewhat retreated to a corner of the clinic for a small amount of privacy – it was probably for the best, since the girl's constant touching was starting to be uncomfortable to be around, sweet as it was – , Ashley marched over to where Thomas was talking to the new Turian and the surgeon. Or, maybe not a surgeon, but dressed as one.

She had to admit, Thomas's friend did look a lot more like a proper soldier than he did. They had the same scars and burns from what she could see, though the heavier man seemed his were better healed, and they seemed to be the same age, more or less.

However, that was where the similarities ended. Where Thomas did have a fit physique, this new guy was _packed_. Not like those steroid-pumped maniacs, but the underlying ropes of thick muscles were hard to miss, and stood out in contrast to most other soldiers she had seen in the 212th.

Genetic augmentations most likely, but there was still a more soldier-like appearance to the guy. If he had a past as a soldier, it was probably from one of the Earth-bound militaries, seeing how only the Alliance made extensive use of gene-mods.

"So, Thomas. I expect _two_ things now. One, introduce me to your friend here…."

She let that one linger just long enough to see if he would start. When he instead seemed stricken with embarrassment, she continued;

"Two: Tell me… _where_ and _what_ the Hell you were doing while we were at the hearing?" She demanded, copying their stance as she leaned against the wall across from them. God, did she love seeing Thomas get this red in the head when he was blushing. It was simply so adorable she couldn't be pissed at him when he did it, nor help but feel just a _little_ warm inside whenever she saw it, regulations be damned.

"I… I thought the Council was probably going to root for their top-Spectre anyway like Nihlus said, so I thought I… right, this is Nicolai Tengberg, an old friend from Scandinavia. I honestly wasn't even aware he was here, or working as a surgeon in the clinic. He's ehm..." Thomas coughed and stammered, before elbowing Tengberg in the side; "Introduce _yourself_ , for fuck's sake."

"Nicolai Tengberg, former Danish Navy and field-surgeon." Of all the unexpected things to do, Tengberg snapping to a professional attention in front of her was probably the last on her list. Ashley was taken a little aback, but recovered before the sailor-surgeon – she assumed he meant the Scandinavian Wet-Fleet – continued; "It's a pleasure to meet you, Gunnery Chief Williams... _even though your guys being here probably cost me my job now_ … Thomas has told me a lot about you."

He smiled at her as he spoke, almost as if he hadn't begrudged her losing his job. It was the same type of smile Thomas would send her when they had been off duty in the colony, but it didn't… do the same things to her as whenever Thomas would do it.

Not that she understood why, but she would probably just have to get to know Tengberg better. Still…

"Really?" She asked, vaguely remembering Thomas saying the same thing when they had met the first time.

"Told ya, you're quite a figure back on Earth." Thomas offered awkwardly, smiling. There it was again, thát odd, warming smile of his. She really liked seeing it though, so that it was 'odd' didn't bother her much. She just shook her head gently;

"Fine, fine… I believe you. Now, what _exactly_ happened here?"

* * *

The Citadel, Serpent Nebula

Office of Ambassador Donnel Udina, Presidium

16:01

Back in Udina's office, Thomas really didn't want to be there. The ambassador in mention stood, supporting himself against the railing that prevented him from falling to the bottom the Presidium. A fate no doubt many would have once wished upon him. He seemed ten years older than the last time Thomas saw him, and that was only one or two hours ago. Udina pressed both hands against his tired, old face, and dragged them across it. Then he turned to face the assembled crew, the aliens as well;

"…Well Anderson, looks like your crew has increased since I saw them last time… _then_ it was only two aliens, _now_ it's four." He grumbled, looking at the newcomers.

Especially Garrus, from what Thomas could guess, was upsetting him. He supposed the Turian-Human relationship was still a bit sore with some people, Udina apparently being one of them; " _And_ , to add to my pile of work, we have assaults on officers, firefights... What's next, shooting up a bar just for the hell of it?"

Thomas really couldn't figure this man out. His voice was laden with anger, but angry people wouldn't use 'for the hell of it' in a sentence… would they? Then again, he had already been proven wrong on so many accounts that trying to gauge Udina's personality or mood like this was a decisively _bad_ idea.

"Is there a problem Ambassador?" Anderson asked, diverting the ambassador's attention. _Thank Njord for that man, or something might have gone wrong here._

What mattered was that they now had solid evidence. Even though the Council had dismissed Nihlus' testament, there was no way they could turn down Saren's own voice. _And then we'll kill the son of a whore._

"No, as long as you have a reason for bringing all these aliens to my office." At this, Jon stepped forward, his hands clenched along his sides. Without Thomas noticing it, apparently the Quarian had assumed some sort of leader-position amongst them.

It was the kind of thing he didn't understand much of, so he decided not to get mixed up in it. If the others were fine with it, he wasn't going to complain. Didn't see a reason to.

"Yes we _do_ , Udina." He didn't bother with the Ambassador title, probably because Udina wasn't the ambassador for the Quarian people, and continued. "Tali'Zorah and Garrus Vakarian are both willing to help us take down Saren, and Tali has…" He turned towards Tali and looked at her with, Thomas could have sworn, a smile. And when using the term 'almost', it was because he could only see the vaguest outline of the Quarian's face; "-has some new evidence against Saren".

"Is that so? Well, then maybe you better show us this evidence Miss Tali…?" it took Thomas painful seconds to understand that, being the acquaintance of an Admiral's son – that one was still unreal to Thomas, what with Udina _knowing_ about it – there was to the ambassador a chance that Tali as well was somehow connected to the higher tiers of the Quarian people.

How odd, that the man was more right than he probably knew.

"Zorah. Tali' _Zorah_ nar Rayya." Tali said, stepping forward, before igniting her omnitool. It ran through programs Thomas knew he'd likely never understand – likely they were Quarian runtimes and what-not – before pressing a single digit into the interface, starting off an audio-recording.

" _Eden Prime was a major victory. It has brought us one step closer to finding the Conduit_." Suddenly, another voice spoke up. It was cold, indifferent and yet so revering that it might as well have been accompanied by fanatic drooling;

" _And one step closer to the return of the Reapers"_ she droned, causing a shiver to run the length of Thomas' spine. While Saren was clearly evil, there was something far more… _wrong_ , with that other voice. Was this what an indoctrinated individual sounded like in real life?

It felt like rubbing flamingo-plates against his eardrums.

"Fucking Hell that was creepy…" Nicolai muttered, shuffling his feet with clear unease; "Was that…?"

"Saren's voice-! This proves he was involved! Tali, you are the most awesome girl I've ever known!" Jon exclaimed, giving her what looked like a combination of a fist-bump and a horizontal thumbs-up. Apparently it was a Quarian thing, and the girl seemed uncertain whether to return it or stare at her feet.

It was actually kinda cute.

"Yeah, good thing they didn't shoot your tool." Nicolai said, giving her one of his usual, cheery smiles, which promptly turned into a wry grin; "…and, you know, the rest of you."

"What or, _who_ are the Reapers?" Kaidan spoke up, making his presence known for the first time since entering the room. He was right behind Thomas, and had stood as such without the latter knowing, meaning the young Dane was presented with something of a shock.

"According to the Geth's memory core, the Reapers was a hyper-advanced machine race that existed 50.000 years ago." Tali said, eyes never leaving her tool; "According to this, the Geth worship them like gods…or something."

"So, they existed at the same time as the Protheans?" Garrus asked, bird-like eyes focused on her; "That's a new one."

"…Yes. They hunted the Protheans to total extinction, and then they vanished. At least, that's what the geth believe." She didn't exactly sound as confident as she might have liked to be, even though she was most likely the de-facto expert on Geth in the room.

Reapers, however, were a different matter entirely.

"So… the vision I had on Eden Prime… I saw the Reapers wiping out the Protheans!" Jon injected, rubbing his hands together. It was very alike to what Tali did back at the clinic, and Thomas wondered if it was a Quarian thing, not just a Tali-thing. Still, most of his focus was on the fact that Jon had put two and two together. _Good._

" _Do you doubt his intelligence?"_ the Voice inquired neutrally, sounding very much like he or it were scratching an immaterial chin. It was _weird_.

" _No, not at all…_ " Thomas sighed, shaking his head by centimeters; _"I was just hoping he would be able to see a connection. Hell, I would probably not have been able to figure it out if I didn't know what I do…"_

" _Probably not, no…"_ if there was an insult laced with that, the Voice came off as too neutral and indifferent for it to actually sting.

"Bet the Geth's worship them; one race of machines worshipping a bigger race of machines" Nicolai chuckled sardonically. Thomas shot him a glance. His friend seemed not at all afraid of challenging what sometimes seemed to be pre-set dialogue. Then again, he'd lived on the Citadel for half a year. He'd probably shed all those aversions a long time ago.

"We've got to present this to the Council." Udina said, for once actually looking like things were working out for him, a rare upward-going curl of his lip showing even rarer satisfaction; "They _can't_ ignore this! But… we will leave out the part with the Reapers. It will be good enough if they believe Saren attacked the colony, and then get his status removed. We will tell them all that we know, but _try_ not to talk about ancient machines of doom." Udina was… nervous? Paging up and down the room, his expression once more turned weary, as if looking pleased was strenuous enough; "All of you meet me in front of the stairs to the Council in an hour. _Then_ we'll see if they can deny this!"

"Well, this time we might actually convince them" Thomas sighed to himself, allowing a smile to crease his lips. If all went according to plan, they would. He just hoped he had made the right decision, going to the clinic instead of the hearing. Then again,

"Sir…Captain, I have a request." Thomas stated it almost like a question, but remembered from Homeland Defense that this _was_ how the superiors wanted ensigns and the like to address them. He wasn't sure enough on the Captain to _not_ do this. Anderson looked at Thomas, then at Nicolai. The former wasn't quite sure how the Captain knew this was somehow connected to his the surgeon, but decided to just go with it.

Wasn't much else he could do, really.

"Well, out with it Fisher."

"Sir, on Eden Prime we got slaughtered, and I don't know how to prevent that from happening again…but I request we take on another field-surgeon. Chief Williams is rated for combat-medic, but that would mean removing a gun from the fight. I found a Dextro-Levo certified surgeon in the Upper Wards, and…" Thomas trailed off, unsure of how to continue from there. Anderson frowned, clearly annoyed with the pause, then simply turned to where Nicolai stood;

"Well, maybe _you_ should be introducing yourself, then, mister…?"

"Nicolai Tengberg, Sir." When he snapped to a salute, Thomas wasn't even surprised anymore; "I am rated for surgery on Humans, Turians, Asari and Quarians, Sir, and worked with the Union Wet-Fleet prior to my work in Doctor Chloe Michel's clinic."

"What was your position in the Wet-Fleet?"

"I was a corpsman and a second-class underofficer, Sir."

"Why did you leave?"

"Political tension, Sir." Nicolai responded shortly. When the Captain was still eyeing him, he added with some hesitation; "The Baltics aren't a fun place to be these days, Sir."

"…Well, I guess we can afford one more man. Send me your documents, I'll take a look at them and send them for verification, then you'll be added to the crew-roster."

"Thank you, Sir." Nicolai nodded, seemingly not quite sure if he was supposed to salute before he was enrolled. Thomas stared at his friend, trying to process the fact that Nicolai not only had a cover-story figured out, but somehow apparently also had documents to support it.

Was this going to be another one of those things everyone was supposed to already know so no one would tell him? Probably, yeah.

Still, if it worked, he'd let Nicolai's secrets be Nicolai's secrets. That just left the question of how he would leave his job at the clinic. _I can't imagine Michel would just applaud her colleague for up and leaving to go on a suicide-mission._

"Anyway, we'll see if there even _is_ a mission when we get back from the hearing. If there is, you are welcome aboard. If the isn't going to _be_ a mission…well…"

"If that is all, Captain, I need you to have a closer look at this evidence with me." Udina once again drew Anderson's attention. Tali had at some point transferred the files to the ambassador's omnitool, and the old South-African now mulled over what seemed like streams of data.

"True." Anderson nodded, turning to regard them; "In one hour. Don't be late, people."

When they had left, and the oldest person in the room was likely Garrus, Thomas found himself releasing pent up sighs, all five of them before turning to glance at Nicolai who seemed perfectly content with slumping into a chair.

"So…" he wasn't quite sure where to start, seeing as he couldn't question the how's of Nicolai's documents around the others; "So…this mean you're leaving Doctor Chloe on her own?"

"Mmm." Nicolai sighed, nodding as he closed his eyes. He actually managed to look deeply serious, almost grave, before he looked up again; "I'm taking a leave of absence from the clinic. She didn't want me to, but I told her C-Sec would just close the place down if a _murderer_ worked there…I'm not military, Amigo, I can't go around popping people in self-defense. Civvies like me get busted for that kind of shit."

"But, we dumped the bod-"

"Yes, if you could _refrain_ from mentioning that with Garrus and Nihlus in the room, that'd be nice."

"…right, sorry." Though he felt more embarrassed than sorry, and couldn't quite hold back on a goofy grin; "So…you and Chloe?"

"What?" Nicolai mused, offering just the slightest of smirks as he reclined in the chair; "Yeah, we share living-space, but believe me, I'm _not_ her type. Got a few inches too much down there."

"Oh, right…" Thomas nodded, only slowly processing the meaning of what he'd heard. Then he _did_ , and felt heat crawling up his neck for it; " _Ooooooh_!"

"Trust me though, I've _tried_." He sighed with laughter still in his words; "Still, she made for one hell of a wingman…girl, whatever, in those rare few times we both got off watches at the same time. Chora's Den's a good place to go if you're looking for a hook-up."

"…do I even _want_ to-"

"Know?" Nicolai grinned, getting up from the chair; "Probably not. Anyway, since it would seem I have the captain's blessing, I'll have to have a chat with Chloe. She'll be getting the apartment to herself for a while, but she's bound to be pissed that I'll be leaving…Woman just can't cook."

"But you can…" Thomas allowed himself a smile, thinking back to the times his friend had cooked for the both of them. Hadn't been that many times, but when he'd done it, it had usually been quite glorious; "Right…wait, you're saying for a while, does that mean-"

"That I'll be going back?"

"Well…yeah." Thomas admitted, rubbing his neck; "I mean, couldn't you be like, become military too?...It's not that hard."

"Heh, you trying to draft me, Amigo?" Nicolai mused, a more lazy smile creasing his lips; "Maybe…Dunno yet, really. Last time I was military, it didn't exactly go so well."

"…Right."

"Tengberg, do you have a translator?" the banter ended as Ashley entered it, more or less reminding them that they were still surrounded by aliens and military officials.

"A what?" Thomas asked, regretting his tone even as he spoke.

"Yep, got the standard Sierra-patch right here." He tapped his left earlobe; "Kinda have to, you know, since I've been doing surgery while Chloe wasn't on watch…Wait, Thom, you don't know what a translator is?"

"…maybe?"

"Are you _joking_? Do you _not_ know what a translator is? What the _hell_ did you think it was I gave you, day _one_ on Eden Prime? It wasn't for deaf people, let me tell you that." _Oh yeah. Now that I think about it, she handed me some small earplug-thing when we walked the colony_.

He'd just figured it was some kind of headphones for music from the omnitool. _Shows what I know…_

"Uhhrr… would this be a bad time to say head-phones?" he muttered, looking anywhere but at them. He couldn't face either right now, and could feel as shame crept all across his expression. And he felt dumb. _Gods_ , did he feel dumb.

"Phhhrrrttt… HA! Christ, Thomas, sometimes one'd think you were from the last century! Oh God…. But, _honestly_ , what did you think it was for music?" She laughed, flashing Thomas first a bright smile, then tilted her head just quite a bit, a small musing on her lips.

"…. No… Data available?…." Thomas flustered, not knowing what else to say.

" _Jesus_ …" she threw out her arms, then slapped him on the shoulder. Thomas pretended to wince with pain, though the hit really was hardly more than a clap;

"Ouch Ash, that really hurt my feelings… and my arm. Especially my arm, but the feelings too."

"Should I give you two some privacy?" Nicolai asked with a grin smeared across his face. That guy…he had always been what Thomas referred to as a "ladies' man" – which maybe really did support his claim that Chloe a carpet-eater – and now he seemed fully intent on dishing out as well as Thomas had been on _his_ ass back in the day. That had been the only way he'd been able to live with Nicolai getting flirty looks from every second girl he walked by.

"I-In his _dreams_. And by the way" Ashley turned towards Nicolai; "We need to get _you_ into the navy's pay book if this works out. I'm assuming you don't have your own hardsuit, so you'll likely be issued a standard set from the Normandy's armory."

"Aw yeah, that's _definitely_ music to my ears." He grinned, pumping his fists together; "It'll be like being back in the Navy, just in space. Oh boy, I'm definitely going to have to ask Chloe to find a replacement while I'm gone. I'm not the _only_ surgeon or doctor on the Normandy, right?"

"Ah no, Karin Chakwas is the Chief Medical Officer on the Normandy." Thomas explained, honestly uncertain whether or not Nicolai remembered anything about the Normandy or its crew. Deciding to _make use_ of his artificial leg, he shook it for show; "She more or less put me back together after the geth blew off my right leg."

"Aw _Dude_!" Nicolai's expression drained of color, making Thomas wonder if he hadn't already told him. So much had happened in the clinic that he'd more or less forgotten the first conversation; "That is just _sick_ …Did it…"

"Hurt?" Thomas finished for him, offering his friend a sympathetic smile. When looking around, he realized they had at some point left Udina's office, something he hadn't even been aware of happening; "Yeah, it more or less hurt like a bitch. But I'm alive, and I got a replacement…I can't really say the same for a lot of others…"

"We're gonna avenge them." Ashley ground out, her friendly demeanor replaced with a determined scowl; "I'll murder Saren for them, even if it kills me."

"...I'm seriously starting to get a PTSD-vibe here…" Nicolai glanced at them both as he walked; "Should I… be packing sleeping pills, anti-depressants or-?"

"No." the Chief retorted flatly; "That's not necessary. I _don't_ have a disorder, and _neither_ does Thomas. We're _fine_ , and I'll be even finer once-"

"Excuse me! Excuse me, but are you Alliance military?"

Ashley's expression changed like a flash when a voice, that of a man's, interrupted her words. To Thomas, it almost looked like she was happy for the interruption, and that was the only reason she didn't shout when she next spoke.

"Yeah, we are… but why are you asking? Is everything alright, sir?" she, being the superior officer, assumed the lead immediately, something for which Thomas was grateful. Even though the Embassy Reception was a large, open and airy space, he still felt as if every eye in the hall was on them.

The man before them seemed unaffected by the large, open space however, the desperation etched into his expression more than likely made him give no shits. Thomas had never _been_ to India, but knew the man was from there. Had to be, with that complexion.

"Yes. My name is Samesh Bhatia. My wife, Nirali, was in the 212th on Eden Prime." Even as he heard them, it took Thomas several seconds to process the spoken words, so insane was the coincidence. Looking at Ashley, he could see her reaction as equally stunned.

"212th … Ash, wasn't that _our_ unit?" he whispered, unable to get his voice to more than that. Ashley gaped for a moment, some sense of horror behind her eyes before a façade of calm and collection was painted over it. He could see the muscles of her jaw tensing up, as if holding back an outburst.

"Yes, Bhatia… N-Nirali Bhatia; short dark hair, with a red mark on her forehead?" Yes. Thomas remembered her too, the woman of the woods. He couldn't remember what the men with her had been called, or what they'd looked like, but he remembered Bhatia. And he remembered how she was just _gone_ , all of a sudden. Gone, and likely taken by the geth. _And it's all because_ I _didn't tell anyone the attack was going to happen. What did I even…I_ knew _it was going to happen, and I used my own fucking uncertainty as an excuse to not say a word!_

" _Had you done so, most likely none would have believed you. The lives would have been lost either way, and you would be worse off than now."_

" _Not. Helping. You're not much of a moral compass when you tell me to fuck everyone around me."_ Thomas bit his lips in order not to growl, and clenched his fists white behind his back.

"You knew her? Then please, you must help me." Thomas could feel the desperation _dripping_ from the grieving husband, and felt in equal measures the shame and regret radiate from Ashley. It did nothing but cause him far more shame than he already felt, and he desperately sought something else to look at.

Every human male in sight was wearing the same clothes. It was all he could find, and it didn't help him at all. And he had missed whatever Ashley had just said;

"… No. I know that she was killed in the defense of the colony, but when I went to have her body delivered to me for cremation… they just… _turned_ _me_ _down_. They wouldn't even tell me why or where she is. I just want to take her back to Earth for a proper ceremony, and give us both peace."

"Don't worry. We'll take care of it." Ashley's voice could have crumbled granite at that moment, and Thomas found himself unable to look away. Even though she was in a fury, and as Nicolai had said, maybe suffering from stress-disorder, she was absolutely inspiring. There wasn't even any doubt that she could do this. _Is this what people saw in Shepard back then? An unstoppable force?_

"Thank you. The man you need to speak to is up the in the expensive café." Bhatia pointed towards a door on the right side of the reception, just up a staircase. The word 'Barista' was spelled out in azure neon above it; "His name is Bosker, I…do not know his first name."

"Alright. We'll go have a chat with him." Ashley said, already turning on her heels. Thomas shot Nicolai a disbelieving glance, only to receive a similar one in return.

"Actually…maybe this is something the two of you should do." He said, shooting an apologetic glance between Thomas and Ashley; "This is your garrison and colleague, so I'll not really be of any use, plus I kinda need to get back to the clinic and pack my things. You know, so I'll be ready in case the second hearing goes our way."

"Fair enough." Thomas had expected Ashley to protest his leaving, as had clearly Nicolai himself. Instead she didn't even seem annoyed. Not with _him_ , anyway; "Just be at the rendezvous in time."

"Will do, ma'am." Nicolai nodded, snapping a salute to Ashley. This, if nothing else, seemed to haul her from the single-minded assault she was about to undertake, and shot a curious glance at the departing surgeon.

"He's…a lot like you, somehow…" she muttered, the words just loud enough to catch Thomas' attention, even as they ascended the stairs. She seemed to have regained some measure of emotional control, if nothing else; "How long have you known each other?"

"Hoh…" that was a tough one, seeing how the years had just started to flow together once they'd passed the 'bros for a decade' line. It left Thomas scratching his neck as he stared at the ceiling high above, trying to remember; "I think…maybe ten-twelve years?"

"Met in the military?" she asked, then scrounged up her face like she'd gotten an itch; "Wait, dumb question, sorry…Fuck, this whole thing is messing with my concentration."

"Yours and mind both, Chief…" he sighed, leaning his forehead against the wall. If anyone thought he looked weird, he really couldn't care less. After surviving Eden Prime, joining the Normandy's crew, reuniting with Nicolai – who was supposed to be dead – surviving _two_ consecutive firefights in as many minutes while having Tali'Zorah in the background, then being told that the Alliance withheld the body of a colleague he'd fought beside on Eden Prime…there really wasn't a lot of fucks left to give in his arsenal; "Let's just…get this shit over with and…I dunno, try to forget what a massive shithole the galaxy is."

Ashley slowly nodded, looking at her feet. There was no determination left in her stance or her voice, as if it had been the final burst of the fumes he knew they both ran on at this point; "…sounds like a good plan to me." she muttered softly, shuffling her feet.

"Hey, come on, let _me_ be the depressed slouch around here, 'kay?" he was pretty sure he sounded about as inspiring as usual, which was to say not a whole lot. Still, punching her on the shoulder – while a severe breach of regulations – seemed to get her spirits up just a notch; "Let's go find this Bosker guy and get this done with."

"Good…" she nodded sharply, rolling her shoulders as renewed grit seemed to seep into her eyes and voice; "Good, let's get to it."

As Ashley ripped the door to the bar open with as much force as one could get away with, Thomas couldn't help feeling a small surge of pride. He'd actually managed a pep-talk. _That's a first. Holy shit I actually-_

"Hey, you!" Ashley had already spotted their quarry. Thomas wasn't quite sure how, since the man she was bulldozing towards looked about as regular as any other human being in the bar. That was when it struck him, that aside from the barkeep and an old redhead at one of the tables, the man Ashley was accosting _was_ the only human in the room. The rest were all Volus, Elcor and Asari.

"Are you speaking to me ma'am?" _Well, you_ are _the one she's about to collide with buddy, I think that qualifies._

"Yes. Are you Mr. Bosker, the clerk in charge of Mr. Bhatia's case?" Ashley demanded with as little malice as she was likely capable of mustering. So, despite being visibly _fuming_ , she still knew it was better to _not_ rip the man's jugular from his throat. At least, not immediately.

"Yes. Is there some way I can help you?" Bosker's entire persona simply screamed _Bureaucrat!_ And as much as Thomas knew he should be feeling guilty for this, he was now actually quite looking forward to seeing what was going to now though, he felt more than happy with just being audience.

"Well, you can start by giving him his _wife_ back!" at her angry tone, several customers turned in their seats to watch the events happening. Surprisingly to Thomas, he noticed one of them was an Alliance officer, the older woman with auburn hair tied into a bundle behind her head. Of all the people in the room, only she looked _amused_ by Ashley's verbal attack.

"I…I am not sure what you're-"

"Don't give me that shit, you big-lipped butthole." She snarled, getting right in the man's face. It would probably have been funny, had it not been for the fact that Thomas had seen the woman they were arguing over get dragged off by the Geth; "I know you have Serviceman Bhatia in custody, so fucking hand her over."

"Yes, because I have her in my jacket." Bosker snarked, sidestepping around her. Thomas did his best to stay out of range, should the man suddenly find himself flying into a wall. He honestly didn't doubt Ashley was capable of it, just whether or not she was willing; "Listen, before you start screaming in my face, maybe consider the fact that I'm just the middleman? I'm not the one who ordered her body taken for forensics, and I'm not the one with authority to release the body. Even _if_ I was, why would I release it just because you told me to? In case you didn't know, simply threatening people doesn't work any more."

" _She_ was _my_ subordinate." Ashley whispered, somehow coming across as far more dangerous than had she been shouting. Thomas was torn between finding the display terrifying…and kind of hot, actually; "Fuck it, if you can't release her, point me at whomever _can_."

"That would…be the lady behind you, actually…" Bosker muttered, glancing between Ashley and the old, auburnette woman sitting at one of the tables, grinning at the scene while sipping from a beer-can, of all things.

Ashley turned her head as well, eyes widening with surprise when she saw the old lady. Thomas did his best not to look confused, but knew he likely didn't succeed. Ashley seemed to have some sort of recognition in her eyes at the woman, and he had absolutely no clue who she was.

"Yep, over here you two." The old lady called, waving them over with a very childlike attitude. Thomas hesitated, unsure if he was being had. When Ashley immediately complied, however, he simply followed her. _Great, I think the old dame is senile. Just what I_ fucking _needed in my life right now…_

And when Ashley saluted the old woman, he decided the world had finally gotten the better of him. There _was_ a joke in this, _somewhere_ , and he couldn't see the punchline. Unless it was him. Which still didn't make it less weir and wrong, considering they were trying to get Nirali's corpse returned to her husband.

Still, he knew enough to copy the salute, even though he didn't understand why.

"Hey, I'm actually taking a day off, so quit the goose-stepping." The old woman shook her head, beckoning them over. Thomas let his superior go first, unwilling to face with what he was starting to suspect _was_ a slightly odd person, if not actually senile; "So, you're trying to get miss Bhatia back to her hubby?"

"Yes, ma'am Admiral." Ashley nodded curtly, though her addressing nearly sent Thomas spinning. _Admiral_? He was standing in front of an _Admiral_?!

If that wasn't awe-inspiring in and of itself, he wasn't sure what else could be. The only Alliance Admiral he knew by name was Stephen Hackett, and he hadn't seen a trace of that man yet; "Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams, ma'am, of the 212th on Eden Prime."

"Ah, so Bhatia was your subordinate, then…yes, yes…yes…yes, yes, I think I see…" the old woman nodded, taking a long, gulping sip from her beer. Before she spoke, she wiped some of the residue from her lips with the sleeve of her casuals; "Yes, I think I get the picture now…You've met mister Bhatia in the lounge, no doubt. Sad man, really. Sad what happened to him, sad what happened to his wife and sad that I can't do shit to actually help you out here."

"I thought Bosker just said-" Ashley started, glancing after the man. Bosker had buggered off, leaving the Chief with a weary sigh in her throat.

"Bosker's a bureaucrat, and just like all his slimy ilk, he likes to pretend he's more involved than he really is…" the Admiral smiled wryly, then closed her eyes and pushed away the beer; "You see, there's a very good reason I can't transfer the body back to mister Bhatia, no matter how much I'd like to do so…Your subordinate was found impaled on one of the weird spikes the geth put up, but unlike so many others, she was still more or less intact…Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"…you're using her as a test-sample?" Ashley stated, her voice low and aghast. Thomas took all of three seconds to realize what she meant, and immediately felt sick. He couldn't help imagining what Nirali, the woman they'd encountered near the woods, would have looked like halfway through becoming a Husk; "Oh… _God_ …"

"That…is an ugly way of putting it, but true nevertheless…" the Admiral nodded; "Research and Development on Arcturus wants to understand how and why the nanomachines in her blood-stream work, and the only way to do that is… _Yeah_ , you get the picture I'm sure. Believe me, I know how you feel about this, Chief, but I'm a slave to Parliament on this one, and until R&D is done, all I can do for Mister Bhatia is to pay his fare to Arcturus…"

"Is that…There's nothing else?!" Ashley demanded hoarsely, outrage and despair laced in her voice; "For God's sake, she died defending thousands of innocents!"

"As did the rest of your garrison, bar the three of you, from what I hear." The old woman replied, for the first time looking at Thomas; "And now thousands of colonists are still alive because of that. We're trying to make sure something like this doesn't happen again, especially because whatever the geth used, it overcame high-grade anti-jammers around garrison HQ. Bhatia can have his wife back…as intact as possible, I hope, _whenever_ the labs are done with their tests."

"I…Yes, Ma'am." Ashley looked and sounded like she wanted someone to hit her with a sledgehammer. The old admiral nodded at that, draining what sounded like the last drops of her beer

"Another thing, actually…" she sighed happily, putting down the can. The mood-change was uncanny, in Thomas' eyes; "I would suggest Flux, on the upper wards, for that drink."

"Y-you…what?" the Chief stuttered, flabbergasted and reddening. Instead of offering an explanation, the Admiral just stood and smiled;

"Well, I've taken enough of your time. Miss Williams, Mister Fisher, you're dismissed."

* * *

"What took you guys so long?" Kaidan asked when Ashley, Thomas and Nicolai arrived in the Presidium Tower Foyer, three minutes late. They'd caught up with Nicolai at the bottom of the tower, where the surgeon had been busy insulting the lift's slow descend towards the bottom.

The way up had been more or less the same.

"Sorry, bureaucracy got in the way…" was all Ashley could say. Thomas figured it was because she didn't want to mention the weird Admiral, or the fact that the old woman had known both her name _and his_. There was something unnerving about that.

"Thát, and a slow-ass elevator" Nicolai shrugged. It earned a smile from Kaidan, though it vanished just as quickly again when he spoke. Still, there was a hint of satisfaction to be found in his voice;

"Well, the others are already up there, and the hearing is underway. From what I can tell, it's going the right way. Udina's still pissed, but it's more of an "why don't you do more?" kind of pissed than earlier. Now let's get up there." He sighed, mirroring Nicolai's shrugging. _Gods, I haven't made a mistake introducing those two, have I?_

Donnel Udina's voice could be heard all the way from the lowest set of stairs. It carried like the roar of an angry deity, demanding sacrifices of human flesh; "Send your fleets in!"

"A fleet cannot track down on man. We would also risk a full-scale war with the Terminus systems. Something we are not inclined to do for the time being." The Salarian dismissed. Even when proven to be wrong, he still didn't seem to have an ounce of humility. _Fucking amphibians. Spineless and twisted…I wonder if that includes Mordin too…_

It was almost sad to realize that the old Salarian was actually a war-criminal by the standards Thomas had been raised with.

"Send me. Saren's a threat to all of us. If _you_ won't deal with him, _I'll_ take care of him." Thomas was left more or less as speechless as the rest of them. He knew, rationally, that he should have seen this coming from anyone bearing the name 'Shepard', but still. To hear Jon yell thát at the Council, he wasn't quite sure if it was generous, heroic or just plain pretentious. Unless someone had done deals behind the scene. _It's…not impossible, actually. It'll probably do wonder for interspecies relations with us and the Quarians…but it'll piss off the Council. Fucking Hel, politics really haven't changed one bit._

"Normally" the Asari Councilor started, her voice as diplomatic and genuine as ever; "…when a Spectre goes rouge, we send another Spectre after him. Nihlus Kryik, Kaidan Alenko, Jon'Shepard, step forward please." Kaidan sent the rest of the group a look of confusion. _But, if Nihlus, a_ Turian _Spectre, is onboard as well, that would give the Council less reason to complain…Holy shit, politics_ haven't _changed for shit at all!_

"The Council has found Saren Arterius guilty in all charges…" Sparatus said, for some reason glancing briefly towards the audience that always seemed to be gathered along the sidelines. Likely most of them didn't even work in politics, or were just aides; "And it has been decided that a joint-species operation will be undertaken in order to bring Saren to justice. Nihlus Kryik, you will represent the Spectres, the Turian Hierarchy and the Citadel Council on this mission. Kaidan Alenko, you will represent the Human Systems Alliance on this mission. Jon'Shepard nar Rayya, you will represent the Quarian Migrant Fleet as a sovereign entity on this mission, operating on equal footing with Lieutenant Alenko."

Thomas was… _numbed_ by this, the surprise simply too much for him to take in. Even once the hearing ended, and they started filing down the stairs, he had no idea how this was going compared to the original timeline. What… he was _sure_ this wasn't what happened in Hudson's version. _First of all… where's Wrex? I'm pretty sure we should have found him by now._

"What did we miss?" Thomas whispered when he found Garrus close enough to allow for it. Also, he guessed Tali likely wasn't in the mood for small-talk. If she were, it would probably be with Jon, not him. _And I'm almost close to being pretty sure that something is going on between those two._

"Well, nothing much. The Council was finally convinced that Saren is a bad guy, and they stripped him of his Spectre status. Then they agreed to send Shepard, Alenko and Nihlus after him. Aaaand I'm guessing we just tag along for the ride. 'Should be fun." _Damn Garrus, your sense of humor and sarcasm's the same, I see. Good. This probably wouldn't be the same without it._

Jon'Shepard made his way towards them, something odd in his gait. It was most likely the reeling shock of actually having been picked for this. Thomas dearly wished he could judge the Quarian's facial expressions, but the glass only makes his eyes visible.

"Wait… you're coming?" Thomas asked, blinking up at the Turian, once more having to feign surprise and confusion. Gods, was he glad Garrus was coming though. Without his kind of humor, calibrations and just overall his jovial nature, there was a risk everyone might just end up with emotional trauma. What Thomas _was_ worried about, was what Joker meant when he said 'stick up his ass' in 2184… or was it '85? _He doesn't_ seem _like he's got a stick up his ass._

"I am, yes. I've asked Kryik for permission to join the mission due to the nature of Saren's crimes, as well as the fact that he's a Turian." _Heh…per'mission for a mission…oh gods, I need some sleep._

"Turian? But…" Thomas asked, now honestly confused. He didn't actually know _why_ Garrus had joined Shepard the first time. Genesis had skipped that part completely; "…You're a Turian, Garrus."

"Exactly. Saren's a traitor to the Council, but more importantly he's a galactic disgrace to my people. If I can help bring him down, I will. By the way, I don't think I ever caught your name. Things were kinda hectic in the clinic back there." He said, his sub-harmonics going from a growl to a more friendly tone.

Because Hela's hairy ass, that was a scary sound.

"Right… was too busy seeing if my friend was… I'm Thomas. Private Thomas Fisher, of the SSV Normandy" he allowed himself a small grin as the words really registered in his mind as true; "Welcome aboard, Garrus."

* * *

 **Alright. Seeing as the original chapter was 15k+ words, I decided to cut it in half. I'm not sure how that'll work with the original story since there'll be chapters _after_ this one as well, but, meh, we'll take it as it goes, eh?**

 **I didn't change _that_ much in this chapter, mainly just a certain Admiral's presence in the bar, as well as realizing the fact that no one, not even a Commander, can just walk in and threaten a clerk to hand over Alliance Property. Shepard, you're doin' it wrong! I also added some more trauma - light mode - because I don't want what happened on Eden Prime to just be forgotten and healed. Terrible shit happened on that colony, and you don't just move on from terrible shit.**

 **I'll likely be posting a Codex Entry on Union Troopers at some point soon, since I'm dying to get it out there but need a relevant chapter for it. Unless you want it in the next update, then I'll put it there.**

 **As always, please feed me your thoughts, hopes and dreams 3:D**


	7. V

**So, as many of you might have noticed, this chapter and the previous one used to be one and the same, as in they were in the same chapter before. This is all part of the rewrite, and because I just couldn't stand some of the stuff that went down in the original version. Such as enlisted marines having to purchase replacement armor for what they lost in combat.**

 **That shit just doesn't make sense.**

 **Some of these scenes, such as everything involving politics, felt like hammering a nail through my hands to redo. Especially when I finally got Nicolai's joining of the Normandy to just somewhat plausible, as well as expanding on the mandatory trauma and aftermath when you just saw everyone you know get butchered by machines.**

 **Anyway, enjoy, and to those who might be confused at the tite, 'Vikingr' means 'to go out exploring/raiding/traveling'.**

* * *

 **Vikingr**

* * *

Citadel, Serpent Nebula

Citadel Security, Presidium

17:38

C-Sec headquarters was…well, it wasn't usually the most interesting place to work. Sure, there was the occasional bout of journalists becoming too intrusive, and then security kindly showed them the door, but…for Chellick, that wasn't part of what he got to do. _His_ job merely consisted of running between different offices, maintaining both an investigation into illegal arms, as well as trying to crack down on the smuggling of sentient beings. Humans, for some reason, took exception to that one.

Speaking of humans, one of the more infamous ones seemed keenly interested in him. Donning his best PR-smile, Chellick nodded for the old, female human with the red head-fur to approach. They called it hair, but somehow it wasn't the same as the hair on a Celun-hound.

"I was told I could find my lost Krogan here, answers to 'Urdnot Wrex'?" the human mused. It was unusual, certainly, for a cop to be asked by a Systems Alliance Admiral where she could find a Krogan mercenary. Then again, he had recognized her the second she exited the lift from the Presidium.

Maybe this day wouldn't be _so_ boring in the end.

"Officer Chellick, ma'am. And yes, we have him here… well, for as long as he keeps bothering the owner of Cora's Den anyway. May I ask why you need him?" The Turian looked up from his place at the desk, offering the officer a scrutinizing look. Huh, that'd be a first for someone to seem _amused_ by that. Usually humans got all queasy when he gave them 'the look'.

This woman, however, was of course widely known to give exactly no shits about intimidation. She just sent him a smirk as response, flashing gleaming white teeth. With most officers, that would have been unusual and surprising. With Vestergaard though, it was entire normal;

"I'm here to take him off your hands." She replied as if that was the simplest thing in the galaxy; "I need to get him house-broken for a certain little ship."

"Well then… he's over there, actually." Chellick sighed, pointing at where a large, red-plated Krogan Battlemaster was being escorted down some stairs, arguing with a group of human officers who seemed ready to bail the moment he looked at one for too long.

 _Yeah, Wrex is like that._

An old customer who kept scaring the crap out of the newbies. In a way, Chellick liked that about Wrex… even if the Krogan was only in C-sec because they had to haul his ass in there each time he made trouble. No scales off _his_ ass if some cocky new-guy tried being smart and got a concussion for his trouble.

Because Wrex wasn't dumb. Even if he threatened Fist on a regular basis, there wasn't actually a whole lot the man could do. Everyone knew he was rotten, so C-Sec didn't overtly bother beyond the barest necessities to protect the bastard. Besides, if Fist ended up dead it'd mean Chellick could get that poor girl back to Flux.

"Thanks." the Admiral said, nodding before she turned and headed for the old Krogan.

Wrex, Battlemaster and former clan chief of Urdnot, now mercenary for the Shadow Broker, was arguing with a group of newly hatched officers, seeing which one he could make wet his pants first. From the smell of it, one of them already had.

"This is your last warning Wrex. Stay away from Fist." One of them said. Not the one with human urine down his leg though. Wrex scowled, leaning towards the human.

"You should warn Fist instead. I will kill him." He might as well have stated that the Presidium was clean, for all the lack of malice his voice held. Then again, humans took exception to the strangest things. Fist's imminent demise apparently among them.

"Do you _want_ me to arrest you?" The human asked, leaning towards Wrex in return. The old Krogan almost cocked a brow plate at that, surprised that the human had the balls to stand up to him. He was in the process of answering the officer, probably something along the lines of daring him to try, when he picked up a new smell in the air.

 _Huh…well how about that?_

It was human, that much was certain. But it held… a new air to it. He turned at the smell, noticing the human female striding towards him. It took a few moments before he recognized her.

Damn, how long had it been? Ten years? He hadn't seen her since she'd hired him for a job on Omega. Good times, but it didn't explain why she'd just disappeared at the same time as Aleena. Still, he figured it wasn't in his place to ask, seeing as he'd just been a hired gun at the time.

Still was, he supposed.

"Wrex? That you scaring the panties of the girls again? You do know that's not how to get laid, right?" Yep, that was her.

Anna was the only human he'd ever met who seemed to have actually contemplated head-butting _him_ when they'd argued. Couldn't remember what about, but the impression lasted. Maybe it was because she'd done just that afterwards – on another Krogan while wearing a helmet, but still. Humans weren't supposed to do that.

"Heh, what do you know. I thought you stayed at that big station of yours, Anna… or, should I just call you _Admiral_ now?" He replied, pushing his way through the officers, most of whom took it as their chance to get away without losing face. Upon reaching her, she grabbed his hand, shaking it with a strength surprising for a human. Those had to be some _expensive_ gene-mods.

"Just Anna will be fine. Listen, you're after Fist, right?" She asked, smiling at him, yet with an air of professionalism that belonged to a woman of her position. Had she been a Krogan, she could have led a clan with that personality of hers. Also he'd have tried to bang her. Ah, the sorrows of cross-species ineptitude.

…"I might be, yeah. Shadow Broker sent me after him since he turned to Saren instead. Why?"

"Don't bother then. Far as you need to know, he's already dead, dumped in a protein-vat and forgotten. By the way, here's the money he had on him. I hope that's sufficient for the job." She said, transferring a rather hefty sum from her tool to his, causing the Krogan to stare at her in confusion, then annoyance. _Damn that human, she just doesn't know when to stop breaking the rules…_

"Why'd you kill Fist?... And when? I just came from there, his guards had me kicked out." He demanded, not sure if he believed her on this. If he couldn't get to Fist, there was no way _she_ could. Still, the smirk on her face was that of child-like pride, not a liar.

"I know a lot more than people tend to think Wrex. T'is why I'm still alive, and a lot of other people aren't. I knew you were going after Fist, so I simply used the commotion you caused. You don't really need to know how. I prefer to keep a few secrets." She said, crossing her arms across her chest in a way that was so inheritably hers. He'd heard people say she'd started some sort of private army of spies and stuff, but he'd never really bought into it.

Maybe there _was_ something about it, then?

"Uh huh… alright. I guess that's the how, but then there's the 'why'."

"Short version: I need you for a job. You'll be working with a team comprised of freelancers, former C-Sec and Alliance marines. It's a manhunt, and I want you to be my eyes, ears and gun on the team. Quad too, if it comes down to it."

"Okay… I'll bite. What's the mission, what's the team and what do I get out of it?" He asked, leaning against the wall to the elevator.

"First, the mission is former Spectre Saren Arterius. I want him dead, preferably burned too, and you're good at getting people dead. Second, the team will come to Dock 2-D on the Presidium. Look for a bunch of marines following a Quarian and a Turian around. You won't have issues working with Nihlus Kryik, right?"

"The Spectre? Not really… Never met the guy, so I dunno."

"Good. Now, as for your payment, funds will be transferred to you upon the start of the mission. I already know your new account, by the way, so just let me handle that part."

"Dammit… how do you find out all this shit anyway?" He growled, giving her the stink-eye. With Krogan, that could easily be mistaken for the 'I'll rip your spine out your ass'-look.

"No go Wrex. A woman has to have her secrets." She said, lightly punching him on the armored shoulder. Great… yeah, she would definitely have made a great Krogan clan leader. The only female leader he remembered having some of the woman's grit, was maybe Toka Befog, leader of Clan Toka. Odd ones, those people. They were the single most zealous clan on the planet, revering the Thresher Maws for having given the Krogan the Gift in days of old. As in, 'before Wrex himself had been born' old.

"Right, right… 2-D was it? Will be there. Anything else I should know about the team? They _do_ know I'm in as well, right?" He asked with a bit of uncertainty. Anna did have a habit of letting important details slip when she assumed they were not… well, important.

"Not…yet. But don't worry, I'll get to that part. I just have to track them down… so, Wrex… any progress with winning back Tuchanka?" She asked, seemingly wanting to change the subject. She could have chosen a better one though, seeing as said subject was constantly nagging him.

"I've given up on my people years ago… we're dying out, and no one, especially no Krogan, are trying to reverse thát fact. We either die for turf or credits these days…" He scowled, sending nasty glares to any Turians and Salarians who happened to be in the room.

Chellick got a long, flat one that eventually became an annoyed huff when it was clear the Turian cop just didn't give a shit.

"Hey, cheer up now, eh?" Anna said, punching his shoulder hard enough for her knuckles to apparently hurt. Wrex hardly felt it though, though his mood did improve with the gesture; "I'm sure things will come around eventually. If nothing else, take some joy in knowing you'll outlive any grandkids _I_ get."

"Only if I don't die for credits first…" He muttered, shrugging. Anna's smile became a thin, thoughtful line instead.

"Yeah, okay there's that too." She said. Then, as neither seemed to know of a way to continue the conversation through the awkward silence that had ensued, the relatively older admiral bid Wrex goodbye and headed back for the elevator.

* * *

Presidium tower

17:57

"Who's that woman? The one speaking to the captain?" Nicolai asked, causing Thomas to stop his descend from the stairs. Following Nicolai's finger, he felt something click between the mass that was his accumulated brain cells. Mainly because he recognized the old lady. And still he didn't know her name; "Something 'bout her looks…familiar."

"Hell if I know…" he muttered, deliberately _not_ looking at her; "She's an Alliance Admiral, I think…"

"Son of a Dick, I _knew_ I'd seen her before…" Nicolai swore, missing a step; "That's fucking Anna Fisker"

" _Admiral_ Anna Cologne _Fisher_ , actually." Ashley commented dryly, stepping up next to them; "You'll be better off keeping your guard up around her, Tengberg."

"Anna _Fisk-_ Fisher?" Thomas asked, feeling weird and hurting inside. That name wasn't supposed to be anywhere but on a gravestone, but…Cologne was a different name again, so it was just coincidence. Plus, with Scandinavia united, there was probably a lot more of those names going around than before.

"Don't get ideas mate…" Nicolai muttered, placing a hand on his shoulder. He took the sympathy for what it was, and chose not to think about it further; "Just forget I even mentioned her."

"It's fine…" it only took him a moment to regain his calm. If anyone noticed but Nicolai, they didn't make it known; "So…what's so special about her?"

"Yeah… don't know if you watched TV some years back, but she made quite a name by publically castrating pirates, slavers, mercs, terrorists… I think she cut the balls off the leader of the Red Sands once too." Garrus mused, sounding thoroughly pleased as he counted off the woman's victims; "Some say she's got her own intelligence-ops, some shady group like the Blackwatch or something. I don't know though, sounds a bit far-fetched."

"She's a hardass alright." Nicolai said, nodding as if in approval. Maybe it was, considering she _sounded_ like a competent fleet-commander, whereas his last one had apparently gotten them all killed. Or, to be fair that had apparently been Putin throwing the nukes, but…"I'm just glad I don't work under her. Bet you she'd work any one of us to fucking _death_."

"Rookie, are you two done playing around yet? We've only got an hour before we have to be at the Normandy again, and I don't think we'll get another chance to shop for some time." Ashley barked, drawing his attention back to the bottom of the stairs, where Ashley was waiting, hands crossed before her more than modest bosom. _And I just had to stare. As long's she doesn't see it, she won't- oh fuck, I bet she saw. Shit, now she'll…something. Voice, help me out here!_

" _Is the plan to let Shepard die or to tell them the truth, including what happens above Alchera? Could it just be to let everything play out?"_

 _What?_ Thomas frowned, almost missing a step down the stairs _. How can that in any way be related to Ashley maybe or maybe not noticing me staring at her boobs?_

" _It serves as a far more important conundrum, as well as a distraction."_ The disembodied, otherwise-probably-schizophrenia-symptom replied dryly _Besides, she can hardly fault you for what your genes instruct you to do."_

 _It's still fucking rude._

" _Which is another part of human – and I would not be surprised if this was true for all sentient mammalians_ _– psyche that I simply do not comprehend. You are functions of biology, so why the need to conceal and hide it?"_

… _you're seriously fucked up in the head, you know that?_

" _Considering the fact that I currently reside in_ yours _, maybe I should not be the center of your concern?_ The Voice mused, an undertone of humor almost certain behind its words; " _Besides, I do so enjoy the chances of first-hand understanding. Pretend I am not even here, but also ponder the question I posed."_

 _The ques-…right, about Shepard. Well, considering what else has already been changed, I want a chance to look into Cerberus before deciding on that._ He sighed, doing his best to appear interested in something Garrus was saying in the elevator. _Considering the fact that Jon is a Quarian, I doubt they'll do much to bring him back._

" _Maybe, but then again, did anyone ever expect them to do the same for the human Shepard?"_

 _I…don't know._ Thomas admitted wearily, blinking sleep from his eyes. Gods, he needed more sleep than the little he'd gotten in the medbay. Unconsciousness didn't offer up the same kind of rest as simple sleep. _Why am_ I _the one who has to deal with that?_

" _Perhaps because_ you _were the one I chose for host…Would you rather I had chosen someone else?"_ the Voice sounded almost annoyed, as if Thomas was the one being unreasonable. Right, because there was so much _he_ could do to prevent people from dying. Saving just Ashley and Hillary had cost him a leg already.

 _That's like saving someone's life and then demand to get paid!_

" _That is what they call 'the American way' is it not?"_

 _Anyway…_ This was all moving much too fast for him to wrap his head around. Thomas didn't _want_ some sort of special responsibility. Didn't need it either. He was a soldier, and oddly content with being just that. Ashley was his superior officer, Hillary his colleague and now he worked on the Normandy with the former. Nicolai had, somehow, also ended up here, and had actually done so half a year before him – that was something of a time-paradox Thomas didn't understand – and it all added up to one of the most profoundly unreal career-changes he'd ever gone through. _What exactly do you expect me to do? Shoot Saren whenever we find him? I can't exactly direct a fleet at him, or something like that._

" _I have…full confidence in your ability to find a way."_

 _That's just being fucking vague and you know it!_

" _I work in mysterious ways."_

There was _definitely_ amusement mixed in with that reply. Thomas didn't appreciate being belittled like this, but knew he couldn't do shit against it. For all he knew, if the Voice-being-thing got sufficiently pissed with him, it would just revert the whole thing, erase him and pick someone else. There was _no_ logic in how this shit worked, and it was giving him a major headache.

"Oi, _oi_ , Private Burn-bag?"

It wasn't until a pair of fingers snapped before his face that Thomas realized someone was talking to him. Returning to reality, he found Nicolai trying to get his attention, while Ashley stood close by, watching with a hint of amusement in her expression.

"W-what?"

You…kinda spaced out on us there." Nicolai phrased it like the start of a question unasked.

"Right, sorry…" Well, that was not exactly a good thing. So much of his attention had been directed at arguing with the Voice that he'd utterly missed disembarking the lift. Damn; "What'd you say?"

"And somehow you survived Eden Prime…fuck me if I understand how thát happened…" Nicolai sighed, shaking his head. There was no real mockery in his words, otherwise Thomas suspected Ashley would have thrown the surgeon over the railing; "Look, I gotta head back to the clinic and take care o' some stuff. I'll meet the two of you at the Normandy before we take off, and you can direct me to the medbay. For now, I kinda gotta split."

"Right…" once again, Thomas felt weird when he saw Nicolai departing. Having so recently reunited with his friend, he felt like something bad would happen every time they were apart; "…right…"

"You look…bothered, by him leaving." Ashley stated in a soft voice, suddenly standing next to him. Being so close to her caused the blood to heat in his veins, and Thomas felt his stomach churn when he noticed her eyes resting on his face; "What's wrong?"

Aside from the fact that the way she was looking at him was slowly but certainly going to give him a cardiac-arrest?

"I haven't seen him since he shipped off for the Baltics…And now I suddenly find out he's been on the Citadel for half a year…" uncertain of how to proceed from there, Thomas simply opted to start walking, not knowing where to.

"You didn't keep in contact?"

"Things were…" how should he put it without his answer becoming a lie? "…complicated. Communication wasn't an option, and…for a while, I suppose fate just…sent us on different paths. And now, I feel like whenever he leaves he might not be coming back…"

"…I actually think I understand." Ashley slowly spoke, as if it was a greater admission than she had wanted to give. Thomas felt slightly less uneasy at the sympathy in her voice; "When you lose people around you, you tend to fear it happening again and again. As…cliché, as it might sound, talking about it with others who have experienced the same is usually the best way to come to terms."

"…Do you think he had a point?"

"About?" she tilted her head ever so slightly and watched him with a look somewhere between quizzical and concerned.

"Us having post trauma stress disorder?" it sounded unreal and unserious when he tried saying it, and suddenly he somewhat understood how Ashley might be feeling when someone suggested the same to her; "I don't exactly…know a lot about it."

"…Maybe." Ashley sighed harshly, running a hand through her hair. She took a turn up a set of stairs, leaving him to simply follow her; "I don't know. But even if we do, I refuse to let it define me, nor will I let it stop me from hunting Saren down and put a bullet in his face."

"Yeah…" it felt almost weird, discussing with complete sincerity how they planned on killing someone. So far, Thomas hadn't actually _killed_ anyone. He'd dealt out more than a few blows and punches in the clinic, but Tali and Garrus had been the ones to actually pull the triggers on the second batch of thugs, and Nicolai on the first; "What does it…feel like?"

"What?"

"Killing someone? I've never done it before…" he muttered, unable in that moment to meet her eyes. Had he done so, he might have seen the weight of doubt and concern in Ashley's eyes, threatening to crush her. Instead, he was left walking in relative silence, wondering if she was even going to respond.

Wordlessly, Ashley led him through corridors and staircases, something he had trouble figuring out where the Hel was leading them. For the longest time, he was too afraid that he'd somehow offended or insulted her, somehow, that he didn't dare speak.

It wasn't until he found himself at the counter of a bar, a place called 'Flux', that he realized where Ashley had been taking him, and what she was doing. Ordering drinks, it seemed like. The disbelief and surprise still sat too deeply in him for him to figure out a manner of response to this that wouldn't completely make Ashley punch him in the jaw.

So when she simply handed him a bottle of what he _assumed_ to be alcohol of some sort, he simply accepted and followed her to the closest, free table. Seeing as it was in the middle of the day, he idly wasn't very surprised at the lack of people around.

"I…You asked what it…feels like to take a life." Ashley sighed as she stared at her beverage, phrasing it more like a need for confirmation than a simple statement; "To be honest…I…haven't, actually."

"You ha… I…I'm sorry, I just thought that since you'd been a soldier for so long, that…" Thomas managed to stop himself, trying to lodge out the foot he had so expertly planted in his mouth. It wasn't happening, and in the end he could only apologize as he did best: Awkwardly; "I'm just being an ass now, aren't I?"

"Maybe a little, yeah." Ashley sighed, though there was a hint of a smile beneath the weariness. She hadn't smiled nearly enough since Eden Prime – not that he had either – but now cracks were starting to appear in the traumatized surface. He just hoped it wasn't all just something he imagined. Wishful thinking, and all that; "But I get where you're coming from...Most of my career has been spent either training or simply garrisoned. Hillary has actually killed far more people than me, and I'm not sure if that's funny or sad, seeing how she's so…"

"Childish?" Thomas tried. He perfectly well remembered some of the antics the blonde had pulled off from time to time, things that most adults just didn't do. _Like that water-balloon fight she started on the shooting range. I still don't get_ where _she got them from. Or when. Or how. Or why._

It was a fun memory, nonetheless.

"I was going to say 'carefree', but…"

"Right. I didn't mean she wasn't – _isn't_ competent or anything, I just…" Shit, now he'd said something stupid. Assuming things like whether or not someone had killed before, and how they _should_ or _shouldn't_ behave afterwards…what business had he deciding something like that? "Never mind."

And then, to his greatest surprise, Ashley actually giggled. It wasn't a girly giggle, or something high-pitched and embarrassing, but still very much a genuine giggle. It was enough for his stuttering to halt, and his eyes to widen in confusion, followed closely by disbelief.

The entire thing lasted less than two seconds, yet the sound of her light-hearted amusement still echoed in his mind.

"You really don't do much casual talk, do you?"

"N-not…really, I mean I talk just fine, but…I may be…somewhat socially stunted…sort of…and say things I shouldn't say…" he muttered, rubbing his neck as heat crept across his face; "…such as all the things I just said, actually…Bugger."

"You just need a familiar subject, that's all." She explained gently, putting a hand on his arm. Resisting the instinctive wince was _hard_. Ashley probably didn't realize it, but this was so far the closest he'd ever gotten to a girl – although Ashley was _definitely_ more woman than girl – and he had little to no idea how to respond to it. If she noticed his reaction, she didn't comment on it; "Like, say, you and Tengberg. I know you've been apart for half a year, but you still act like it's barely been a day. You've known each other for a long time."

"Yeah?"

"So…How'd you meet?" Ashley clearly hesitated to ask, maybe because she remembered what Thomas also did; that she'd asked this once before, but had then turned away from the conversation. It was a little awkward.

"At the local swimming-club, actually…" it was kinda funny, actually. Thomas couldn't, for all he tried, remember when and where _exactly_ he'd met his friend the first time, only that the swimming club had been where it all started; "You know, best thing is, when we first met, he was chubby as Hel."

"What, seriously?" Ashley whispered, a slight grin slowly spreading on her lips as she leaned forward. To Thomas, it almost felt like they were discussing clandestine subjects, and it sent a thrill through his body; "But the guy's fucking _stacked_."

"Yeah." Thomas chuckled, trying a sip of the drink. It wasn't beer, actually, but the sweet taste of honey almost reminded him of a desert-wine. It wasn't wine, however, he could tell that much; "That's what Navy School does to you. Sometimes I think I lucked out, taking the infantry-route instead."

"You ever seen combat?" Ashley propped her chin on top of her palms, as if prepared for an anecdote; "…in the EFEC, I mean?"

"…Not really, no." he replied slowly, for once picking his words _very_ deliberately. He had, thank the gods, had access to his own files while garrisoned on Eden Prime, and to his grand surprise had found quite the military record concerning him.

The beverage, and he was slowly starting to suspect it was either sweet brandy or mead, was packing quite a punch, making it harder for him to decide what was allowed to say. The fact that he was having drinks with Ashley in privacy – sort of – was also filling more and more of his mind; "I never really _left_ Union territory, so there wasn't a whole lot to do. War games, sure, but actual fighting? First time someone shot at me to kill was on Eden Prime, really…"

"…To Eden Prime, then." Ashley raised her glass, a move he quickly mirrored; "May the dead be avenged, and never forgotten."

" _Aye_ to that." He replied before both drained their drinks.

* * *

SSV Normandy, Presidium Dock D-2

Deck 3. Gym, Crew Quarters, Brigg.

20:41

"So, you're not cooped up in the medbay?"

"Nah, not until Chakwas actually needs me." Nicolai shrugged in response as he rested against the wall, watching Wrex pressing weights. Thomas wasn't surprised at his reaction, seeing how he too had been both surprised and relieved to find the old Krogan waiting at the docking tube.

The weirdest thing was, it seemed like Anderson himself had placed him here

"She doesn't?"

"She's given me a tour of the medbay already, and I think she went to catch a few hours before something happens." The newest medical assistant explained idly; "She's a good old dame, and sharp, I'll give her that."

"So you decided on spending your free time…here?" Thomas mused, glancing at his friend with open curiosity; "I'd have thought you'd be all over the engine room, you know, where Tali is?"

"Really?" the look Nicolai shot him was just flat enough that it properly conveyed his opinion on that; "Just because of what happened back…in Denmark, it doesn't mean I can't tell reality from a game. Sure, I'd love to pick her brain on Quarian culture and advanced spaceship-physics, but in the flesh she _is_ an alien, and a partnered one to boot."

"Damn that's good to hear you say."

"…because she's an alien?" Nicolai frowned, then raised a brow when Ashley walked by, clad in casuals. She seemed to be headed for a small door in the side of the room; "That's not why I'm not interested."

"No, I mean I'm really glad you're _not_ interested." Thomas explained, rubbing his neck. Yeah, that had come out wrong, and now he just had to remove a boot from his jaws; "I had this sort of fear that maybe you'd try…you know, to…you know….I mean…Fuck it, you _know_ what I mean, and I'm not gonna say it out loud in here."

"Oh?" Nicolai folded his face into a mask of clear mock-confusion for all but a moment, then just shook his head and smiled; "Amigo, it may only have been a few weeks for you at most, but for me it's been almost a year since you…well, _left_. A lot has changed."

"Yeah…" Thomas nodded, poking at the heavy-set muscles that made up his friend's arms; "I can see _that_ much."

"Not exactly what I meant, but the same's changed for you, I'd bet." Nicolai grinned slightly as they watched Wrex add another weight to the bar; "Death…has a way of changing your outlook. When Chloe took me in, all I wanted was some sort of meaning, of purpose in this place. For a time, I suppose, I found it in helping the less well-off on the Ward. We were non-profit and ran on donations…Just another reason I had to leave."

"What?"

"Would _you_ donate to a clinic employing murderous surgeons?" his friend asked with a wry purse of his lips, arms folded before his broad chest; "I'll return there, once this is all over, and see if the clinic still has a place for me. If not…well, I suppose even I know enough not to be on board when the ship goes above Alchera…"

"I'm…still trying to figure that one out."

"What, me knowing? You do realize I played my share of games too, right?"

"Not….exactly what I meant." Thomas rubbed his closed eyes, trying to get the sleep out. He was already looking forward to when they took off, because then he might get a few hours of sleep. Being not-technically-ship-staff hopefully meant that he wouldn't be subjected to the horrid work-shifts engineers and crewmembers probably would. He really hoped the ground-team got at least _that_ in recompensation.

"Yeah, I do…For now though, I also know a certain tall, dark and pretty stranger seems intent on your ass."

"W-what?" Thomas spluttered, taken by surprise more from Nicolai's choice of words than the meaning they actually conveyed. Following the direction of his friend's eyes, he found Ashley approaching them, wearing a protective piece of headgear, as well as carrying one in her hand; "Oh great, fuck. You sure you don't wanna go first?"

"Yup! I'm _definitely_ sure. Now have _fun_. I'll make sure there's a gurney prepared for your broken ass when you're done." Nicolai grinned lopsided, taking off before the lunge Thomas aimed at his shoulder could connect. Bastard always had been fast for his size. He turned with a respectful ' _Ma'am_ ' directed at Ashley before hijacking the lift upstairs.

"Oi, Rookie. Time to get _down_ , _dirty_ and _bruised_!" _Oh gods, please let something happen, Shepard's speech, Joker mutinying, anything!_

"Yes Chief! On my way!" the voice was his, but the words were simply an instinctive response to the command of a superior officer. Back in Homeland Defense, he'd have been sent to scrub the floors if he hadn't complied.

The next hour was spent with him being a human punching bag for Ashley. It _was_ a sparring match, so they trained on one of the mats lying around. There were four of them in total, so there was room to spare. Thomas found himself regretting never passing Military CQC back home, because even _that_ would definitely have been an advantage here.

He had basically nothing, and it showed when Ashley's bare foot caught him in the shoulder, hard, tossing him to the ground faster than he could process. His attempt at dodging it only caused it to slip halfway off, but still retained enough power to knock him on his ass.

"1-0" Ashley stated, swiping her hands before hauling him to his feet again.

"Dammit! Go easy on me in the start, Chief, I haven't done this for a while" He already felt the bruise forming, and just hoped he could still use the arm in an hour. Ashley grinned, extending a hand for him to grab.

It was such a small thing, taking her hand, and yet he felt more flustered than he could remember having ever been. When he'd been carrying her and Hillary on Eden Prime, it had been all about survival. But here, he felt the heat of her hand meet his, how he was probably sweating and clammy from the brief exercise.

And he couldn't quite describe how it made him feel. He hoped she didn't mind how his hand felt.

Then was when he got an idea, below the belt though it was. Thomas grabbed the hand and, before she could pull him up, he placed a foot in her sternum and flipped her into the air. He then let her fall down flat, and started getting up himself;

"1-1" He stated in a similar fashion to hers, trying to be as casual as possible. A grunt of pain answered him, and he turned his head to see Ashley, writhing on the mat in evident pain. Oh shit, had he kicked her in someplace really bad? Did women had somewhere you just couldn't kick them where he had-

His concerned move, aimed at helping her up, was interrupted when his superior flipped herself into a 180-degress spin, locked both legs around his hips and propelled him to the ground. It all happened faster than he could process, and he was left stunned on the mat.

"2-1. Good one Rookie, but you made one mistake. Care to guess?" she smirked, rolling her shoulders as she straddled him. He had a pretty decent perspective from where he was, and quickly tried looking anywhere else but straight up. He also really, _really_ hoped the pain would dull his reaction to having his gorgeous superior straddling him. _Frey's balls, I'm going to be dead by the end of the week if things continue like this…_

" _Ghhhaahh_ … I fought back?" He gulped, letting her get off without a fight. Having gained a somewhat understanding of how Ashley's mind worked, he wouldn't have been surprised if that was the right answer. She liked to win, and didn't shy from dirty tricks.

And he couldn't decide with himself if that made her more attractive, or just an apparently sore loser.

"Ha! That's a good one, gotta make thát a rule." She laughed, helping him up; "No, you let your guard down. Unless I'm actually bleeding heavily, or my limps are broken, don't let your guard down. Understood?"

Well… that was a little radical, if anyone had asked for his opinion. Then again, no one seemed to be, so he kept that observation to himself. Ashley probably wouldn't agree, and would just declare him a softie, or something like that.

"…Yes Chief" he replied, a bit hesitant to really stop for nothing but serious injuries. It sounded like something his old instructors would have wanted, which didn't exactly make him agree any more. Despite all the promotional vids and commercials, the Danish Army had been bone-hard when drilling its recruits.

Sometimes, he wondered how the Huntsman Corps could ever be created, seeing as they needed _harder_ training than the army. There was a _reason_ they were legendary, even though he'd never actually seen one.

"Then come on! Let's see what you've got." Ashley jeered, hopping on her bare toes as he shifted back into a stance, shaking his arms to loosen up from the first hit. Yep, that was gonna be a bruise.

"Arch!" and so was _that_ , too. Ashley palmed him in the chest and hooked an arm through his before using her own back to roll him across, then slammed him into the mat again. _Son of a fuck!_

"3-1"

"Fuck! That hurt like hell you psychotic -!" Another kick, this time connecting her heel to his ass, interrupted his rant. The flaring pain was an effective silencer, and he felt like she'd broken his butt-cheek, if that was even a thing.

Well, it was now. He was probably going to have an imprint of her foot on his ass.

"What's the matter Thomas? Can't get up?" _Oh you're gonna get it now!_

His brain didn't seem to realize that he _couldn't_ win, and kept on screaming for his body to do its damned job. The only problem was, that his body was the part of him taking the punches, so it had considerably more experience with whether or not it could win.

A shame then, that his mouth was closer to the brain than the body.

"Oh I'm just getting started here!" he retaliated with as much vigor in his voice as he could. _I'm getting beat the crap out of me by a girl. A beautiful girl no less. Doesn't matter that she's a badass marine, she's still a girl!_ "Seriously though, I'm at a disadvantage here."

"Oh?" she mouthed cutely, dancing around him.

"Yeah? Down to one original leg, remember?" he snarked, shaking the prosthetic at her. It was more or less as agile as a real leg, but the weight was still somewhat off, and the nerves hadn't yet fully connected.

"Ah…right…shit, sorry…" Ashley sighed, briefly looking at her own two feet, then back up; "If… you want to stop, we can stop. I…got distracted. I'm sorry."

"Mmm. No, I'm good." He shook his head, shifting on his feet; "Just have some delay in it, so consider this me giving you a handicap."

"Oh…Ah, good. Good, then...should we….?"

"Continue?" he panted, rubbing his increasingly sore shoulder; "Yeah, yeah I'm good. Let's do this shit until there's a winner."

"You do realize it's 3 to 1, right?" she mused, cocking her head with a spreading smile creasing her lips. Thomas had to avert his eyes to avoid getting flustered – and he _hated_ himself for that reaction right now – which was about when he found himself in the air. _Huh… how did she do that?_

Whereafter he proceeded to hit the mat hard enough to knock all the air from his lungs. He'd landed on his chest, which meant the gut-punch of all gut-punches had met him straight on. This just wasn't playing fair. _Am I a masochist for actually continuing this? Yeah, I probably am…_

"Oh, sorry Thomas… a little too harsh?" She said while panting hard herself. _At least I got her pulse up. So I can't be that bad._

"To harsh? I think…ow, I think you _broke_ my _stomach_ …because it hurts. Like, a lot. _Fucking Helheim's fiery fucks…"_

"Take a breather, I'll check with my tool." She didn't need to say that twice. Thomas just collapsed on the mat, trying to breathe in without causing too much pain. Ashley picked up the small wrist box and turned on the omnitool, then gave him a scan.

"4-1. Get up rookie, you haven't broken anything." She grinned, deactivating the tool before grabbing Thomas by his shirt, pulling him to his feet. He wasn't all that ignorant to how close he ended up to her face, and did the best he could not to let it show.

"How the Hel did you do that last one? How could you even _lift_ me?" he stammered, trying to form a coherent sentence while her face was only a few inches from his, as well as honestly being completely baffled by the earlier show of strength. _Her arms are muscled, yeah, but not_ that _muscled._

"It's called martial arts, _dumbass_ …" she teased him, grinning while hopping on her feet. He contended himself with simply standing straight when she released him, watching the mysterious creature before him. No girls nor women he'd known back home ever displayed this kind of…attitude, around him. This was new, and it was doing weird things to his body. Ashley didn't seem to notice, rolling her shoulders; "…and I used to watch a lot of wrestling when I was a kid. Uncle was one of the best, they called him a 'Krogan in human form', and he kinda used that on my dad when we had the family dinners."

"Your uncle used to beat up your dad during family dinners?" That sounded just weird. Unless, traditions had really changed so much so that physical violence was well appreciated during dinner? If so, he couldn't understand why, but also wasn't sure he wanted to know _how_ ; "That sounds… _dysfunctional_?"

"Nah, we had a small gym nearby, they always went there. Dad wanted revenge, and my uncle just played along. Plus, Mom and aunt Cecilia used to make wagers…wouldn't believe it when you see her today, but she was quite the fiery woman back then."

"Your aunt?" there was something he couldn't place about that sentence, but it wasn't because it was _wrong_ , just unusual. _Very_ unusual.

"My mother." Ashley corrected him, pulling one foot behind her back to stretch the leg. Thomas briefly lost his focus at seeing her… _flexibility_ ; "She'd make bets, wagers, dares, that sort of thing. That…was a long time ago…"

By now he'd pretty much accepted that his brain was a complete and utter pervert and that he couldn't do anything to stop it. His body luckily didn't pitch in. Seeing as he was wearing gym-shorts, there _would_ have been a reaction.

And once more, luckily Ashley didn't notice;

"…Usually that was what got dad back into the ring, seeing just how much he stood to lose. We're talking some serious creds here… Looking back on it, it really was pretty stupid." She admitted, though her smile betrayed a willingness to do it all again, if she could.

"What's your dad do?" Could he be a soldier as well, or perhaps a boxer? With the moves Ashley pulled before, Thomas honestly wouldn't have been surprised of either. Still, there was the name ' _Williams'_ , suggesting that since her dad's dad was the general of Shanxi – which technically made him a name for the history books - , her dad might still be a soldier, if the 'Curse' didn't cause him to drop out of the military.

And even if General Williams would enter history as the conquered, he would still be there. It was something Thomas had picked up on, back in school, that even though someone lost a battle, the way they did so would decide how worthy they would be in the eyes of the readers. Names like Leonidas, Vercingetorix, De Meeza or Napoleon would always be there for people to investigate, because they had fought impossible wars.

This time, however, the odd one out was De Meeza, who hadn't lost to the Prussians in 1864, because the Union soldiers had reinforced Dyboel Mill. History was a fickle thing, and no doubt Ashley's grandfather would one day be remember, not as the man who _lost_ to the Turians, but the man who _fought_ the Turians.

It was something to hope for, if nothing else.

"He was a soldier, like me. I come from a _long_ line of soldiers, you know. Grandfather was General Williams, Commander of Shanxi. First human commander to surrender to an alien force." She almost sounded like the words caused her pain. Likely had, in the past; ""He was disgraced, and since then my family hasn't been able to get above Serviceman third class, well, before me that is. Just like my dad used to do… you know, the first thing he did when I made Chief, was to salute." She closed her eyes, something like a flash of regret, yet joy crossing her expression.

Thomas wasn't quite sure what to make of that. He'd never been the best at a lot of things. Guessing people's ages, intentions and moods were just three examples, and the latter seemed needed here.

"When you say "was"… does that mean…" He asked, trying _and failing_ to avoid placing his foot between his jaws. Some even called that a talent of his, though he'd honestly be less than sad to lose it.

"Yeah, he… passed away six years ago. Left me and my sisters to take care of mum. I was already grown up by then, and it wasn't like I hadn't taken care of them while he was on tours. Still, it… became another thing entirely when he wasn't there to return from duty anymore." She uttered an explosive huff and breathed in, lids blinking faster than she'd probably meant to; "… _shit_."

"I'm… _Frey_ , I'm sorry Ash. If it means anything, I… then I know what it's like to lose your family." It helped that this was the truth. But still the absence of pain from the words worried him. _Mom, Dad_ , _why don't I feel even just a little sad?_

"Yeah, I... keep forgetting about that. How…how long ago was it? Two weeks?"

"More or less, I… left Earth right after, then arrived on Eden Prime, and you guys found me." he said, looking down at his feet. Gods, he _hated_ it whenever he had to lie to her, even if it was by omission, it was still lying.

And he knew you couldn't build a relationship on deceit. A _working_ relationship, that was. He still didn't bother with any real optimism that his attraction towards her was mutual. Especially with his prosthesis, he was lucky just to still be on the mission.

 _Lucky_ , had definitely become a relative term.

"I'm kind of amazed at how well you handle it. You're younger than me, but a month after dad's death, I was still wrecked. You… I haven't seen a single tear. How do you cope with that kind of thing?"

As they were talking, Ashley had sat down, hugging her knees in what reminded him most of all of a child. Maybe, she still had the kind of uncertainties and insecurities younger girls had. He was definitely not naïve enough to think she was untouched by everything.

This wasn't a game. Trauma was a real thing, and they, if anyone, could serve as proof of that.

"I… honestly don't know. I haven't… given it that much thought. I'm… Perhaps I'm afraid that remembering them too much will bring some kind of… trauma." That was a lie. He thought about them more than was probably healthy, but at the same time he didn't want to admit not feeling any pain at all. The lie was better; "It does help though, to have my old friend here. Even though he may be an ass at some points."

"Yeah, he constantly mentions you and me being-" Ashley grinned as Thomas felt heat rise to his cheeks.

"Yeah…just, you know…sorry, I know he can be a bit-"

" _Attention crew, attention crew_." Joker's amusement echoed through the gym as the intercoms spread his voice _; "As per recent changes in command and stuff, we'll_ not _be serving peanuts on the flight…Also the lieutenant's got something to say."_

Saved by the intercom. If that hadn't been a real thing before, it most definitely was now. Thomas couldn't stop the grin spreading across his lips as Joker took every chance to live up to his name.

" _Crew of the Normandy, this is Lieutenant Alenko…Now, I know many of you still feel the loss of Commander Dawson, believe me, I do too. Simon Dawson, Richard Jenkins and Dennis Hudson disembarked for what should have been a simple mission. Instead, they were murdered by the Geth under Saren Arterius' command_." Kaidan, not Shepard, was giving the speech, and it took Thomas more than a moment to process this change of events; " _My job, therefore, is fairly straightforward. Working with newly instated Commander Jon'Shepard and Spectre Nihlus Kryik, I will find Saren._ We _will find Saren, and we will kill him. No capture, no interrogation. Just the good old human way of a bullet in the brain."_

When Kaidan's voice no longer sounded from the comms, Thomas slumped down and rested on his back, closing his eyes while waiting. He wasn't quite sure what for, until he realized the intercom was still on.

" _Normandy, this is Jon'Shepard nar Rayya. Most of you, probably all of you, have never heard of me before. That's fine. I didn't get this job because I wanted fame, or even the job at all."_ It was an odd way of starting, but hopefully Jon would continue. Leaving it at that would not be the best idea ever; _"I am here, because Humanity is the sole true friend my people has in this shithole of a galaxy, and because I was on Eden Prime when Saren attacked. I want him dead. Not because he has wronged me personally, but because someone's gotta fucking go kill the son of a bitch. If that's us, then that's us. I know I am a non-human, and as such some might not trust me. I can't prevent that from being a thing, only hope it won't affect the mission. I do, however, look forward to working with you…Do I turn this thing off or…"_

" _Ah, no, you just..."_ Joker could be heard over the intercom, and Thomas found it hard not to laugh. Despite the seriousness of everything, it was nice knowing someone was _worse_ at public speaking than him; " _See, this way…also the comms are still on. Way to make a first impression, commander."_

"… _Kheelah…just…take us out, will you?"_

" _Aye, aye."_ Joker's laughing could be heard as clearly as had he been in the room. While holographic technology might still be less than impressive, at least audio had improved. Thomas rested back again, closing his eyes against the building thrum of the nearby drive-core.

And with that, the hunt was on.

* * *

 **As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.**


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